


Where the desperate ones crawl

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Porn, Episode: s03e02 Primavera, Happy Ending, Heat Sex, Introspection, Knotting, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No mpreg, Omega Will Graham, Roleplay Logs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: "I never expected this of you," Hannibal says quietly. "Have you so desperately run out of options?"[ABO Hannigram porn with feels. Season 3 divergent, Will goes off his suppressants to seduce Hannibal to bond with him.]





	Where the desperate ones crawl

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Where the lonely ones roam](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13902870) by [merrythoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts), [ReallyMissCoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee). 



> A mirror of flipped roles from our other ABO s3 one-shot divergent thingamajig. Enjoy? :D
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : This is another merrythoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format. At times we can be pretentious, repetitive and annoyingly wordy, but we're not going to change so please forgo any "constructive criticism" regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and try something else as we have no interest in attempting to fic-ify our stories.
> 
> Will written by Merry ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Hannibal written by ReallyMissCoffee ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com/))

He's going to get Hannibal to bite him. This time, they're going to bond. Before, Will had been unsure when he'd asked - _offered_ \- but it hadn't mattered for Hannibal had declined. Hannibal had countered with the suggestion of the next day, after they left together. Well, instead Will had been left, a rictus grin carved into him, a slash of judgment from a wrathful God. Hannibal had looked terrible and devastating, bloodied and ferocious, and Hannibal hadn't shown mercy. What a bloodbath... Jack, Alana, Abigail, him.

The healing had been tedious. Of course Will hadn't properly taken care of his wound. He was left with a rather unpleasant scar, one in which he let his fingertips rub across late at night, stroking in a mock-loving touch.

Will hasn't been on his suppressants for over a month now. This is likely a bad plan, but it's all he has. Will is desperate. 

He feels the first inkling of his Heat possibly creeping up when Pazzi hands him the old photograph of Hannibal. It's a Hannibal he's never known, a somewhat solemn looking young man. _Il Mostro._ Another name, another life. Will feels irrationally jealous of the past, of something keeping Hannibal from him, of an insurmountable division. He doesn't share any of this craziness. He plays his part well, caustic tone, cryptic words.

The Valentine left to him is both grotesque and bewitching. Will wonders who the man had been in life. Had he known or experienced one iota of their loneliness? Felt the depths of betrayal? The sparks of a genuine connection? Likely not. 

When Abigail bleeds out again, Will doesn't even flinch. At this point, it feels like he's lost so much. His old life, his dogs, Beverly, Abigail. Respect. They've changed each other and Will plans on changing even more. Why stop here? Why stop now?

So he creeps into the catacombs, the smell of earth and the dead all around him. Will also smells Hannibal's unique scent, burning wood and cardamon. It hits his nostrils and Will feels momentarily dazed by _want._ It's disconcerting, but he'd been expecting it. Heats are spurred by intense emotions and also by the presence of an individual that an Omega desires in some capacity. This is proof enough.

He pushes it down and all but pushes Pazzi away. The fool is going to get himself killed if he decides to stay. A sick part of Wil wants Hannibal to dispatch Pazzi anyway.

Will says three words and he takes out a hotel key card that's in an envelope. Will feels a reckless whim hit him... He stuffs his hand down the back of his pants and rubs against his already wet hole. He bites his lip to make no sound. Will wipes the slick on the envelope and tucks it near a candle.

"Please find me soon," Will murmurs and with that stated, he leaves and heads to his hotel room. 

Nerves are shooting through him. He needs to get prepared, or at least as prepared as he can possibly be. Will hasn't had a Heat in nearly fifteen years, but he's sure he'll be fine. Hannibal will come to him. Hannibal will help him. And then he'll make Hannibal bite him and Hannibal will be his. 

Something needs to change. Will can't stand being left behind any longer.

* * *

Betrayal carries with it a taste of charred promises, like blackened meat along the tongue. The whispers of heartfelt words left to curl and blacken at the edges, brittle and broken like the sound of Will's stunned, agonized exclamation when Hannibal had so viciously torn into him. Even now, months later, the thoughts haunt him, send bitterness raging through him. Had Will come to him then in peace, had he come to _him_ , Hannibal would have taken him. He would have gathered the man - the Omega - into his arms and would have sunk his teeth into Will's pale, bare throat the way he'd promised to. But instead their evening - their relationship (what a farce _that_ is) - had come to an end at the end of a blade and the beginning of a snarl. 

Bedelia is scared. Hannibal doesn't blame her. While his instincts have been snarling and swelling and posturing, he has been quiet, calm, and reserved. Hannibal rarely reacts with overt anger, but rather a cold silence that seems to slide freezing tendrils into anyone close. As the months pass, he can sense Bedelia's fear, her hesitation. She placates him, makes herself submissive, and Hannibal pictures tearing out her throat on more than one occasion, but he doesn't. Instead he indulges, washes her hair, cooks her meals, and chokes back her bitter scent. It is not the sweet, thick scent of warm grass, old leather, and honey. It is not _Will_.

Yet despite Hannibal's rage, despite his bitter hurt, he cannot dismiss the part of himself that regrets, that aches. He had touched Will Graham's mind and had those questing fingers claw into his own. To be known, to be _seen_... it is a novel experience. And when it comes to the way he had felt with Will so close, his fevered sweetness so enticing, Hannibal cannot deny that he misses him. To have an Omega so willing to kill, to fight past their nature, to _indulge_ as Hannibal does... he had never once seen himself with a mate. He had believed the notion to be frivolous and dangerous, an undue shackle on his mind, his instincts.

Until Will. 

So when Hannibal slaughters Dimmond and fashions him into a bloody Valentine, he is only being partially ironic. 

When he stands in the eaves and his senses suddenly flood with a burst of rich temptation, Hannibal is helpless to the emotions that curl through him upon seeing Will for the first time in months. His anger exists still, but it has been tempered by long months of desperation and bitterness. So when Hannibal takes refuge in the catacombs and hears the quiet conversation followed by Will's three poignant words, he cannot help the wrench in his own chest. 

_I forgive you_. 

Hannibal's lips thin, something aching and sour battling for dominance as he stands there. But then the scent in the air increases, thick and enticing. 

He makes himself stay where he is until Will is long gone. Only then does Hannibal step out and follow the sweet, heady scent that Will had left behind.

He picks up the envelope between two fingers, then raises it up. Hannibal feels its weight, feels the shape of what appears to be a card, and he is tempted to open it immediately. He's tempted to tear open the envelope and go, to find Will, to _truly_ see him again... but no. He will not behave rashly. They are not bonded. Will had _made_ his choice.

Bitterness curls, but as Hannibal lifts the envelope to his face, the scent becomes dizzying. He stills, noting the wet patch on the paper, and then breathes it in deeply. The sweetness of it is damning; he feels something instinctual rear within, feels the twist of desire, and he leans in, pressing the paper to his face and breathing in even deeper. 

Slick. Will's slick. Hannibal is taken by the scent of it, but more than that, he understands. It is not _just_ slick. It's _Heat_ slick. The cloying scent gathers inside of him, making his pulse race. 

It's clever, Will using his own biology as a weapon. Hannibal is almost proud. But while he may be many things, Hannibal is no fool. He breathes, he samples, and he stands there, but he does not immediately take the card, nor does he leave.

When Hannibal finally steps out of the catacombs, the sky has begun to darken. The pink of the sunset is starting to show, and as Hannibal drives to the hotel indicated on the key card he'd been given, he takes his time. 

He shouldn't give in to Will's demands. This is reckless even for him. Yet the scent of Will's Heat, the knowledge that Will is going to soon be presenting for nearly-any Alpha to happen by his hotel room, is not a pleasant thought. 

Hannibal pockets the key card and bides his time as he takes the elevator up. Despite his calm outward appearance - his leather jacket half-zipped over a black button-down - his pulse is quick. Even floors beneath him, Hannibal can discern Will's scent from the rest. It's like a honeyed trail, the veritable bread crumbs. He's angry, he's bitter, and yet... he still misses this reckless, infuriating creature. 

* * *

Since getting out of his car and walking into the not-exactly-lavish hotel, Will has already been getting looks sent his way by interested Alphas. He honestly has no idea how other Omegas do it without being on suppressants. The attention is grating. It almost seems amusing that his Heat is starting to ramp up now that he's _left_ Hannibal. It's like his body knows what he's attempting to do -- that he's planning to lure Hannibal in, to make himself irresistible in the process. Yeah, it's an asshole move, but Will has been out of moves for a while now. Will focuses his efforts on looking unapproachable and grumpy as he stalks up to his room and thankfully no one bothers him.

When he gets inside, he locks the door and kicks off his boots. Will's clothes cling to him uncomfortably and he immediately begins stripping, letting each article fall to the floor. He turns on the A/C and Will wipes the sweat off his forehead with a displeased grunt. There's an itching under his skin that's disconcerting but Will tries to push it down, to ignore it. 

He just needs to hold off a little longer. He gulps down water from the bathroom tap before climbing into the shower. The temperature is barely lukewarm but the cascading water still feels nice down his body. Will washes his hair, he washes his body. His touch feels strange, his skin more receptive than usual. Will's cock stirs but he doesn't attempt to get off. He knows he won't be sated by any simple orgasm. There's trepidation within him, but Will clings to his resolve.

Thoughts of Hannibal float around in his mind. Will feels his scar burn and he runs the tips of his fingers against the raised edge, biting his lip to not make a sound. He's never cared for the idea of Omegan whining and whimpering. He'll do this Heat, he'll submit and wave his ass in the air for Hannibal, he'll get Hannibal to knot and bite him, but Will has no plans on whining and moaning like some bitch in Heat.

He wants the ache in his heart to be relieved. Sex seems like the quickest route to ease the sting, to get Hannibal to be his.

Will knows Hannibal had run off with Bedelia Du Maurier -- the one woman to whisper through the bars that she _believed_ him. It's ironic. Will may be bitter, but Hannibal had not forsaken him completely. Hannibal had opted to leave him a broken heart in the one place he knew Will would go. Breadcrumbs left for him...

He dries off and doesn't redress. The room is cooler, but Will is steadily burning up. He can deal with the nerves, with the antsy _need_ clawing at him, but what is getting to him is the apprehension that Hannibal may not come. He's certain it's been long enough. Hannibal _had_ been there, Hannibal would have smelled him and found the envelope, so what's the deal?

Will begins to pace, the carpet faintly registering as not soft enough against the soles of his feet and Will wants to snort at that observation. He's never needed luxuries and he has no plans on having that change. Feeling a wave of dizziness, Will gives up and lies on the bed. Only the lamps are turned on. He's on his stomach, rubbing his half-hard cock against the sheets almost wantonly. No one is watching so he doesn't care that he moves his limbs against the sheets and takes in the pleasant sensation of most of his body being stimulated. 

Will's eyes slip shut and he lets himself remember Hannibal's bemused expression when he almost killed Ingram. He remembers Hannibal's tenderness as he diligently washed his bloodied knuckles. Will remembers Hannibal's intense gaze as Will ate the ortolan, bones and all... He can feel himself grow wet and the sickly sweet smell is far worse than it usually is. Before he's even realized what he's doing, Will is reaching around and fingering at his hole. 

He doesn't tease himself. Will's index finger easily slides in and he pants at the jolt of sensation. It's been some time since he last bottomed so he's still a little tight. Will pumps a finger inside of himself, clenching his eyes shut tight as he wills Hannibal to be here, to not leave him again. 

It doesn't even feel _that_ good, but it's something. 

* * *

Hannibal can scent Will's Heat from the lobby and the smell of it only increases as he takes the elevator up. Even without the room number on the keycard, Hannibal knows he'd be able to guess which floor would lead to Will. He can taste the sweetness like a breath of honey on the back of his tongue, gathering in his mouth like a feline flehmen response. It swirls enticingly, sensitizing his skin, invigorating his muscles - an old instinctual response to fight for the right to mate - and going straight to his cock. Hannibal allows it, allows his body to respond as it will, but he doesn't lose his mind at the prospect of sex, of a rut. He's not forgotten Will's betrayal and despite how bitter and lonely that Hannibal has felt these last few months, he will not go running to Will with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

A part of him aches with the need to see that Will is alive, that he is all right, that the wound on his abdomen has healed, but Hannibal knows it is the side of himself that had - at one time - already accepted the idea of this man as his mate. Not biting Will had likely saved Hannibal's freedom, and the knowledge embitters him even now.

Hannibal's steps are whisper-quiet as he makes his way down the hall. He walks to the door indicated, though it's hardly necessary. The scent of Heat and sex is almost overpowering, and Hannibal wonders casually what Will would have done had he _not_ shown up. Would he have lain in wait until his body screamed at him for release? Would he have blindly groped the door open and allowed _any_ Alpha to mount him? Would he have ached with defeat and relief as another bred him?

The thoughts burn like bile in Hannibal's mind, so while the temptation to deny Will this _is_ present, Hannibal doesn't. He uses the key card to open the door and then quietly steps inside, slipping his shoes off. It's made somewhat difficult by the rush of sweet heat in the air and Hannibal lifts his head, breathing it in, allowing himself to indulge. Hannibal has scented Heats before. He's partaken before. Yet none have smelled quite so sweet to him, nor have they lodged claws of need so deep. 

He wets his lips and breathes, gathering himself together, then he locks the door, slips his jacket off, and steps past the entrance way. 

Whether or not Will notices him is a matter he cannot discern immediately, for instead of Will waiting for him on the bed, clear-headed and rational, Hannibal does freeze. Something lodges heavily in his throat, for the sight that greets him is... enticing. Will is there, on his stomach, his hips rocking fitfully, his skin _beautifully_ bare and flushed, one arm stretched behind him to finger at his hole. Hannibal breathes in the scent, feeling it settle inside richly, and his eyes burn with desire as he watches Will squirm. 

He has never viewed this man in terms of his secondary gender before. Hannibal has never allowed himself the posturing thoughts of _giving his knot_. Yet as he watches Will squirm, as he scents his need, Hannibal cannot claim that he's _not_ affected. He is merely above his response. 

He wets his lips and quietly walks over though does not immediately climb onto the bed. Instead Hannibal reaches out with one hand, one of his fingers reaching out to swipe a drop of slick off of Will's skin. He lifts it up, breathing in the scent, and feels himself shudder.

"I never expected this of you," Hannibal says quietly. "Have you so desperately run out of options?"

* * *

Will has never readily identified as an Omega. Suppressants had been a godsend for him and messing around with other Omegas or Betas had been safer options than seeking out an Alpha. Will has never needed an Alpha, he doesn't want to be seen as needing protection and care, that he's the weaker sex (because he isn't). He may be an Omega, but he has enough personality, enough attitude, to easily pass as a Beta or be pinned as an unruly, undesirable Omega which has suited him just fine.

But right now need boils within him. Will's jaw is clenched as he resists doing anything more than merely fingering himself with one digit. Even if he were to use more fingers, it wouldn't really help. A knotted toy or an Alpha's knot is the only answer and he doesn't have the former and he's waiting for the latter.

Once more, panic spikes at the thought of Hannibal not taking the bait, of Hannibal not coming. Will doesn't register the door unlocking, he doesn't hear the door opening, but Hannibal's scent then hits him and Will body shudders in anticipation, in utter fucking _relief._ It's almost amusing. Hannibal had cut him open, had killed Abigail, and yet Will wants and craves this man still. It's pathetic, is what it is, but Will can't help it. Months spent apart, and common sense had eluded Will. He's trapped. He might as well have the mark to go with it.

Will doesn't look over his shoulder. There's shame at being so desperate, disgust that he's effectively harnessing his biology and using it as a weapon but Hannibal is here. Hannibal came. And Will feels a finger slide against his skin, but nothing more comes of the touch. This has Will pulling out his own finger and shakily getting to his knees as Hannibal speaks. 

_'Have you so desperately run out of options?'_

Will tenses, his eyebrows pulling in. It's more difficult to think through the haze of the impending Heat but he's not so far gone that he can't be pissed off by Hannibal still. 

"It's not... Not like I had your phone number," Will says. He's sitting on his knees, his legs folded under him. He's resisting looking at Hannibal, but only just. Will doesn't think he could handle seeing judgment in Hannibal's eyes right now. "Can't you just... please, Hannibal." It sounds pitiful to him, but he knows Hannibal likes manners and no matter how desperate Will is feeling, he's not about to lunge at Hannibal and force himself on the older man. 

* * *

Were he any other Alpha, Hannibal knows that the scent of Heat, of desire and need, would have sent him into a rut. Every breath is full of Will's scent - once muted and subtle and now nearly-overpowering - and Hannibal knows that it is only his control that keeps him in his right mind. For Will's scent is exquisite, is temptation beyond anything he could hope to replicate. And yet the history that stretches out between them still forces this moment into something clipped and bitter.

While Hannibal had never imagined Will in full Heat, he _had_ imagined taking him to bed. There is a part of him that already feels sour that not only has Will used his biology to lure him in, but that so much of the ritual has been removed. Hannibal's gaze slides over Will's flushed, bare skin, and yet in the secret place within that still _aches_ for this man, he regrets not having been the one to undress him. Will's body is burning, his biology making him need, and despite how many Alphas would claim otherwise, he knows that were he to leave and lead another Alpha in, Will would wind up just as sated as he would were Hannibal to mount him here and now.

Hannibal has always sneered at the notion of biology, but Will using this seems… impersonal somehow. 

He doesn't leave. He won't. He is not so selfless a man that he would leave Will here for just _anyone_ to have. It doesn't mean he _likes_ it, regardless of how good it is to see Will again. 

Hannibal watches Will shift, watches his finger slide free, and Hannibal breathes in the scent of slick. Bitter as he is, he tilts his head, admiring the way a thin trail of slick drips from Will's hole. Perhaps, if this goes well... Hannibal swallows, fighting through the desire to act immediately. Instead he watches Will kneel and listens to how breathless and labored he sounds when he speaks. 

Will doesn't look at him. He comes close, but he keeps his gaze averted. Hannibal feels his jaw clench. 

"If you want something from me, look me in the eyes and _ask_ me," he says with an edge to his tone that masks the ache of desperation he still feels. 

He has never wished for complacency. There is far too much bitterness between them now to handle such a dismissive meeting, particularly when Hannibal wishes nothing more than to gather this man in and bury his face against Will's neck. But he isn't about to do that with a mere _Omega_. 

Will Graham is not _just_ an Omega, and Hannibal won't stand for him acting like one. 

* * *

Will can't ever know the pull a Heat has to an Alpha. He's seen it, sure, read up about it, but not a large amount because he's never been interested. Will saw no need to understand or care about secondary genders and their incessant complications. No thanks. Before Hannibal he hadn't even considered mating and while Will had thought offering his neck to Hannibal would help his case, would help Jack, he now knows there's a part of him that had wanted it just for himself. Selfish and greedy, he'd wanted Hannibal to be his and him to be Hannibal's.

(It's a disturbing thought.)

But here he is, living it and feeling the sheer discomfort of the beginnings of a Heat. Hannibal's presence is not calming. Hannibal's presence is riling everything up, unburying the pain and anguish, the want and loss but the Heat is coloring each emotion, casting a wide shadow over everything. And it's annoying to have one need thumping in his skull, the need to be knotted, because nothing has ever been that simple with them, but biology dictates that this is a simple need and there exists a simple solution. It's laughable. Almost cruelly ironic.

And he knows it's rude to ask, to beg, but not give Hannibal eye contact. They haven't even greeted each other, not a _hello, Will_ or a _hello, Doctor Lecter_... So Will isn't really surprised when Hannibal requests that he, at the very least, looks Hannibal in the eye. Will doesn't move immediately. They're at a standstill. He doesn't know what Hannibal would do if he didn't comply, but Will doesn't want to find out. He's gone this far, let himself fall this far.

Will doesn't shuffle on his knees to turn around. Instead, he climbs off the bed. His limbs feel a little shaky, but the smell of _Alpha_ and _Hannibal_ pull at him. Will raises his head as he walks over to Hannibal. He is blatantly naked, scars on display, cock not soft. He's not embarrassed over his nudity, but more so worried how much he may debase himself going forward... Hannibal looks ever the picture of conflict. It's a conflict Will doesn't want to delve too deep into because he knows Hannibal is displeased with his actions.

"I've never had Heat sex before," Will states. "During my first Heat my dad locked me in my room with a toy to ensure I understood just how crippling a Heat really is and to also impress upon me the importance of suppressants." 

Will takes another step closer to Hannibal. "Your absence - you leaving me - brought me to this place where I would consider humiliating myself for you, so please don't leave me hanging here." Will's head tilts to the side. He's being honest. Earnest, even. His hand reaches out to grasp onto Hannibal's forearm. Just touching Hannibal makes him feel a quiver go through him.

* * *

Perhaps the most gutting thought is that Hannibal would have given Will everything had Will only seen fit to ask, to be honest with him. While Hannibal hadn't thought of Will rolling in desperate Heat and need, he _had_ envisioned a life elsewhere. A rich location, basking in decadence and culture, allowing Abigail to pursue proper education and make friends, allowing Will the freedom away from Jack, to explore the darkness within. Hannibal had long imagined it, had cast his _life_ aside for it, and had been delivered such a crushing blow that he had very nearly slaughtered Will that moment in his office while burning the books. But no, he'd given Will a chance, a quiet evening, a whisper of hope.

Will had spat on it, and had paid the price. They both had.

So Hannibal demands _this_. He demands Will's attention. Regardless of how desperately he wants to breathe Will in, to clutch him close, he doesn't. 

Instead Hannibal stands there, immobile, and he watches as indecision swirls between them. 

When Will finally does move, Hannibal draws himself up taller and cannot help but drag in a deep, heady breath of Will's honeyed scent. It doesn't sway him, but it is an indulgence. But nothing - not the scent of his Heat, not the sight of his need, not the desperation in Will's voice - comes close to the lance of relief that spears Hannibal's chest when Will finally turns and looks at him. 

Hannibal meets blue eyes, dark with desire. He trails his gaze over Will's face, flushed with heat. This close, he finally allows himself to look, noting the dampness of Will's hair and the sharpness of his cheekbones. He's lost weight - likely in the hospital - and Hannibal's instincts snarl at him to _fix_ that but he sets them aside. His focus is caught as he glances down, and when he finally sees the deep, angry pink scar on Will's abdomen, he aches to make it right as well.

Hannibal's nostrils flare as he breathes in Will's scent and attempts to settle himself. Yet when Will speaks, when he tells Hannibal that he's never been bedded during a Heat before, his desire feels almost dizzying. Hannibal swallows, but with the desire comes bitterness. He watches as Will tilts his head, feels the heat of his touch, and Hannibal remains quiet for a moment, merely collecting his control.

Then he takes a single step closer and leans in. Hannibal closes his eyes, presses his nose to the delicate place where Will's neck meets his shoulder, and Hannibal breathes in his scent, so rich from the source. One bite and Will would be _his_. Hannibal feels the tingle of anticipation, feels his jaws all but ache to bite and _hold_ , but he doesn't. 

Instead he samples Will's scent and he allows one hand to slowly press against Will's back. It slides down slowly until he has one of Will's asscheeks cupped in his palm, and Hannibal squeezes, would-be-appreciatively for any other Alpha, but possessive for him.

"I would never have asked you to do this to yourself," he says softly against Will's throat. "I would have bitten you that night, had you been genuine in your desire all along. Had it not been a _ploy_ to ensnare me. What guarantee have I that Jack Crawford isn't waiting in the eaves once more? What would you have done had I not come? In a few hours, if you're left unsated, you won't care _who_ mounts you provided it alleviates your need." 

Hannibal exhales, harsh, a hissed sound, and he presses his lips chastely to Will's throat. "I didn't want this for you."

* * *

Like this, Will is bared to Hannibal, naked and vulnerable and wet with a need that seeks to dominate all else. Hannibal looks him over, smells him, and more than anything Will wishes to be deemed fit, to be desirable, to not be left behind. He's beginning to _not_ appreciate the heightened emotions. It's disconcerting to feel over-emotional, to know there's likely some truth to his feelings and thoughts, but having them amped up.

Will wants to be embraced. He wants to hug Hannibal back. He wants to feel safe and protected and accepted, to be pardoned, but he doesn't dare move. He's never reached out and touched Hannibal. This already feels like he's crossing a line by holding onto Hannibal's arm.

When Hannibal steps closer his body jerks in anticipation, as if wanting to ready itself for a desired Alpha. Hannibal's mouth comes to the juncture between his neck and shoulder and Will bites down on his bottom lip, determined to not fucking whine. For a wild moment he thinks Hannibal is going to finally bite him, going to truly take him, and Will tries to take in a steadying breath.

No bite comes. Instead, Hannibal's other hand slides down Will's back and comes to grip his ass. Will has the ridiculous urge to spread his legs immediately, but he fights against it. For as long as he can, he wants to control what his body is doing.

Hannibal's words are cruel and Will's eyes shut against a different kind of wetness that he doesn't want. If this, if that... Will has felt far too much guilt and regret, enough that he could have easily drown himself in it. Abigail would have been alive if he had been honest with Hannibal. Alana and Jack wouldn't have been so grievously harmed... _He_ wouldn't have been harmed.

But is there safety to be found in Hannibal, or is there only games and danger and hidden blades waiting?

"It wasn't all a ploy," Will grits out. His head lulls back, pushing his throat against Hannibal's plush mouth, his grip intensifies on Hannibal's arm. "I would-- I would have never offered if a part of me hadn't been interested, hadn't wanted it - wanted _you_ \- on some level." 

Will feels sweaty and hot and he desperately wants to stand right in front of the A/C unit. "And despite what you don't want for me, I made my own choice. I don't want just any Alpha, I want you... Please, Hannibal."

He can't touch on the accusation that any Alpha would do. The thought sickens him.

* * *

This is desperation at its finest, for Will, and for himself. Had Hannibal a choice, he never would have allowed Will to do this. Heat is mindless and need, a great intimacy, yes, but intimacy on an instinctual level. It's heightened emotions and compromised thoughts and morals, a skewed reality. Anything Will tells him now might be twisted by his Heat. Perhaps down the road, if Will had found him level-headed, then Hannibal would have welcomed Will giving into this side of his biology. Yet starting off on uneven ground like this, building this reunion on the shoddy shores of instinct and need... Hannibal's instincts are pleased. _He_ is not. 

To be shackled by instinct and driven to intimacy, to forgiveness, is underhanded. Yet are underhanded tactics not used only by those who are truly desperate? Hannibal is frustrated, but he also understands on some level. Would this have been his choice? No. He wants this man - _has_ wanted him for as long as he'd known him - but he wants _Will_ , not his tumultuous instincts. The only positive is that Hannibal doesn't need to worry about issues of consent. If Will is wrapped in his Heat now, if he's _here_ , then he's been planning this for some time. 

The scent of salt on the air makes something twist in Hannibal's chest. He breathes it in, scents the wild hormonal shifts, knows that Will is close to the end of his rope. One stray word could break him like this. Hannibal cannot deny the temptation to do just that but he holds it back. His bitterness is not so great even now that he wants to _destroy_ this man. Instead, listening to him respond, listening to the need, and feeling the press of Will's throat against his lips, Hannibal finally allows himself a low, rumbling growl as his hold on Will's flesh tightens. 

"Whatever we do here, I intend to repeat later," Hannibal says slowly, his voice clipped, either with anger or a bid to maintain control. "Every _single_ thing, when your mind is clear. I can scent the Heat on your skin. You're close."

Truly, the scent is _perfect_. Hannibal feels the desire lick up his spine, can feel his own cock pressing heavily against the front of his slacks. He doesn't touch himself, though, doesn't make any move to allow Will to do the same. Instead, he breathes out a harsher hiss from between his teeth. Hannibal makes himself draw back. He catches the glint of unshed tears in Will's eyes and he feels the answering twist inside. 

"Get back on the bed, on your hands and knees," Hannibal orders calmly. Yet before he permits Will to go, Hannibal suddenly leans in. The kiss he presses to Will's lips is chaste, little more than a press against the corner of Will's mouth, but it's something. It's a show of frustrated affection, as this is still Will, even if it isn't _all_ of him. 

* * *

With each second that passes, Will's Heat ramps up to drag him down. It's fucking unsettling to be at Hannibal's mercy. Will knows that Hannibal is not pleased by his actions either. Hannibal is more than a little disgruntled by this biological manipulation that he had not consented to. Will may have gone through one Heat previously, but this is far different. The ante is much higher with Hannibal involved. Anything that is said or done during this state will have consequences. Implications. Before he'd been left on his own, but he'd been safe. 

Is Will safe now? Can he trust Hannibal to take care of him through this? He's going to try.

Even though Hannibal may not be inclined to believe everything he says, this _had_ been somewhat planned. Will had left his life and traveled here, hoping that Hannibal would be at the Norman Chapel, that they would be reunited. He'd gone off his suppressants weeks ago. This isn't a random impulse. It may not be a well-thought-out plan, but it's not a whim.

Hannibal growls and Will can't help but pant audibly, clearly affected by the sound. He feels himself leaking and he's a not impressed that a mere _sound_ can have this effect on him, but apparently his body fucking likes it. When Hannibal tells him that he plans on repeating _everything_ \- every single thing - it sounds like a threat and a promise and Will's stomach twists. But this is what he's chosen, is it not? He's both nervous and excited by the prospect.

Hannibal pulls away and Will's eyes open. He swallows back his anxiety about Hannibal moving away. He's not going to be a bitch about this, no matter what his instincts may want. An order is given and Will isn't necessarily pleased by the fucking position chosen. Sure Omegas may crave being mounted, but it's not as if that's the only--

Lips brushing against the corner of his mouth have Will making a startled sound.

It's over far too quickly and all Will can do is blink rapidly for few seconds in confusion and longing. He wants a fucking real kiss, but he doesn't want to press his luck. So, instead, Will turns and gets back onto the bed, crawling on his hands and knees to the middle of the mattress. Will's head falls down and both embarrassment and arousal course through him at this obvious position. His hands clench into fists and Will refuses to look back. 

* * *

As bitter as Hannibal is to be caught like this, the thought of leaving Will to his own devices sickens him. There is much that needs to be said, much that needs to be done, and for all Hannibal knows, this truly is a ploy. Perhaps this is the plan. Use Will as bait, wait until Hannibal is knotted and can no longer run away, and then descend. Indignity and the highest level of betrayal, and yet Hannibal will still risk it. Leaving Will like this, leaving him to permeate _need_ through the entirety of the hotel room, is not what he wants. Hannibal is reasonably certain that were another Alpha to come and try and mount this man, Hannibal would slaughter them indiscriminately. Will, reticent, reckless, conniving Will, is _his_. Even now.

Hannibal makes himself breathe slowly as Will walks back to the bed. The scent of his slick is thick in the air now. It has been since Hannibal had growled and Hannibal isn't certain how he feels about that. Pleased? Surely not. Hannibal's lip curls but he still watches as Will forces himself down on his hands and knees, his head bowed, his body on display. He truly is a sight even though Heat has flushed his skin and made him tremble, and once more Hannibal _wishes_ that this was not so dire. 

But it is. It is, and there is nothing that he can do about it now, so Hannibal simply decides to give in. 

However, he doesn't immediately do what Will's body needs. Hannibal doesn't free himself, climb atop the bed, and grab Will's nape between his teeth, doesn't mount him. Instead Hannibal steps over to the bed and then slowly climbs onto it, kneeling behind Will. He lets himself look, from the flush of his skin, to the trail of wetness sliding down Will's inner thighs. Hannibal wets his lips, breathes in the scent obviously, and then reaches out to spread Will's cheeks. Something instinctual and feral chimes in its satisfaction when Hannibal notes how wet and puffy Will's hole is, how badly he clearly needs. Despite his bitterness, he will not leave Will like this. He doesn't want to.

Instead Hannibal leans in. Spreading Will's cheeks with both hands, Hannibal touches the flushed, slick skin with his thumb, feeling the slick, feeling the need, and breathing in the scent of Heat. Hannibal aches, his cock hard, his lungs feeling stiff with the need to just give in. 

He doesn't.

He licks up Will's inner-thigh without warning and the sweet taste of Will's slick makes him shudder. Something low and rough rumbles in his throat and Hannibal licks again, almost methodical, cleaning Will's thighs with slow, focused licks that then move up to the globes of his ass. All the while, Hannibal watches as the need climbs, as Will's hole seeps its slick, and only when Hannibal can feel the need under Will's skin does he let out a rougher breath and finally give in, just a little. 

Hannibal licks a broad stripe up over Will's skin, from his perineum up over his hole. The taste is exquisite and sweet and the scent is damning in its intensity but Hannibal doesn't fight it. Instead he simply grips Will's ass tighter and draws him back, delving in again to breathe hotly against Will's skin and lick over his hole again. He doesn't waste time, doesn't make Will wait for it. He merely does it, licking and kissing and drinking down each hint of slick that Will's body produces for him. 

* * *

There is a moment where Will, while on his hands and knees presenting himself, worries that Hannibal might just forsake him and walk out of the damn room. If any Alpha could do it, it would be Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal could spite him, could toss him aside and wash his hands of Will. It's a possibility. Nothing is certain in life other than death.

When Will feels the bed dip, relief of a different kind floods into him. Will tenses as he feels Hannibal come to settle behind him. It's nerves and a horrible thrill that shoot through him when Hannibal parts his cheeks and Will's eyes slip shut. 

"Christ," he hisses out, his fingers unclenching and scratching against the sheets as he feels Hannibal stare at him, at his wet, desperate hole. 

A finger - maybe a thumb - swipes against his hole and Will gives a louder exhale as his traitorous body screams to push and beg and mewl. He shakes with the exertion it takes to _not_ give into those urges. It takes Will a moment to honestly comprehend the next sensation -- Hannibal's tongue licking the slick that's dripped down his thighs. Will gasps and he can't stop himself from spreading his legs more to give Hannibal easier access. It's not what he wants, but goddaman is it arousing.

It's Hannibal's mouth licking him, Hannibal tasting him, touching him and when Hannibal makes the single sexiest sound Will can remember - something like a growl and a groan mixed - Will feels an embarrassing amount of slick gush out. He's shaking, sweat gathering around his hairline and sliding down his back and when a tongue finally licks at his hole, Will cries out until he snaps his mouth shut. His toes are curling at the first long lick. Puffs of breath are felt against heated skin and Will trembles, biting on the insides of his cheeks to not make a sound.

Omegas are stereotyped to be noisy and over-expressive and Will doesn't want to be seen like that. It doesn't matter how good it feels, he won't fucking do it. Hannibal is already cursing at their instincts swaying them. And it does feel good, a jittery sensitivity from the lips and tongue intimately lavishing attention on him. Will may not be loud, but he does rock back into Hannibal's mouth, hungry and encouraging and wanting.

* * *

There is actually an instinctual significance to this, though that is not why Hannibal is doing it. In the past, licking, scenting, and tasting had been present in order to ascertain proper compatibility and for those Alphas _searching_ for fertility to be able to find a mate strong enough to bear children. Will never would have been able to give him that, but Hannibal had never _wanted_ it. This is not to test Will's fertility, nor is it to question compatibility. Hannibal already knows this man is who he wants, already knows he's far stronger than most Omegas. That isn't Hannibal's reasoning. 

His reasoning is simple: it feels good. It's intimate. It's pleasure and punishment at once.

He feels Will tense, feels his legs spread, and Hannibal exhales hotly against his skin, allowing the taste of Will's slick to gather on his tongue like honey. The consistency isn't so thick. It's thin and sweet, and Will is not the first Omega he's tasted like this, but he _is_ the most damning for Hannibal's control. The Heat helps, but Hannibal's failing control has little to do with it. It's _Will_. Will is the variable leading him to ruin, for with each slow lick over his skin, Hannibal feels the aching desire to drink deeper, to climb atop him, to push into his searing heat. 

He doesn't, but it is a near thing. Instead Hannibal drinks in the sound of Will's single cry. He basks in the feeling of Will shuddering against him, and when Will's arousal makes slick drip over Hannibal's tongue, Hannibal swallows it down and goes in for more. He licks with broad strokes of his tongue, cleaning Will's skin of slick and shivering when Will starts to rock back into it. It can't be satisfying but Will is greedy for it and Hannibal can reward that. For all that he is angry, he is not so petulant as to leave Will like this.

So he rumbles a sound of satisfaction, something positive, instinctively encouraging, and spreads Will's cheeks wider. With each pass of his tongue, Hannibal reminds himself that Will has never done this while in Heat before. He doesn't press as hard, doesn't take so readily, but he does push. He laps at Will's puffy hole, Hannibal's stubble scratching over sensitive skin, and he presses lingering, sucking kisses to the skin nearby, flushing Will's skin to _his_ liking.

"I won't think less of you for vocalizing," Hannibal says softly against Will's skin, his chin wet with slick and his own saliva. "But I will stop if you become too Heat-drunk." And, in the breath it takes before Hannibal moves back in, he asks, "have you had this done to you before?"

* * *

Having his ass licked and his slick practically eaten up is not what Will needs, not what he wants, but it is pleasure and attention and Hannibal near him. It's strikingly intimate. Closer than they've ever been before and it's meaningful. There is a gradual haze of desperation and lust moving in to fog his thoughts, but Will doesn't want to become mindless here. He wants to remember everything, the feel of fingers spreading him open - exposing him - the sensation of stubble grazing against his skin, the persistent tongue lapping at him. Hannibal's occasional sounds.

God, it's hot and embarrassing at the same time. Will knows this is normal behavior - for an Alpha and Omega to enjoy such an activity - but it's new to him. Having his Omega gender on display had never been something Will wanted so he never let anyone take too much of an interest in his slick. 

Until now.

The sounds are obscene, sucking and slurping and manners are not a thing whatsoever. Hannibal is passionate and kissing over his hole, over any skin that his lascivious mouth can reach. The sensitivity is almost too much to bear and normally Will wouldn't care for such a strange feeling, but he doesn't crawl away. 

When the comment about vocalizing comes, Will's eyes snap open and he snorts derisively. Somehow it pisses him off that, a moment later, Hannibal is claiming he'll stop if Will becomes too Heat-drunk. It's now that Will truly realizes that he's under Hannibal's mercy here. It's discomforting. Or, it should be. The knowledge is, but the feeling is thrilling. Apparently some sick part of him likes Hannibal taking charge and almost threatening him.

For a moment Will considers not answering the question posed to him just to assert some attitude and show he's not going to be a bitch and concede immediately. 

It's difficult to stick to that because that damnable tongue and mouth are back on him and Will now knows Hannibal wouldn't think less off him if he gets loud... What a prick. _Think less of him_ , like Hannibal is choosing to simply tolerate it...

It takes a monumental amount of effort to try and pull himself away and Will only gets away with it (partially) because Hannibal is surprised. He shoots a displeased look over his shoulder. 

"Wouldn't think less of me? Really?" Will gasps out. "I'm supposed to be encouraged by that? And no, I haven't had this done to me. I've never wanted to showcase this fetishized side of myself."

At least, not until Hannibal...

* * *

Is this indulgence or is it punishment? Not even Hannibal knows. Had Will come to him all those months ago and allowed the intimacy between them to foster genuinely, Hannibal would have readily done this for him, and more. At one point in time, Hannibal had thought about it. Not with Will's Heat in the way, but drawing this man to him as an equal and indulging in mutually-vicarious pleasure? 

Yes. Hannibal still aches for it, but more than that, he aches for what they have both lost: connection, trust, _potential_. Not even he is certain that they will be able to find it again, for trust is not an easy construct to rebuild from shattered foundation. 

That is not what this is. _This_ is simple, biological, instinctual. Will _needs_ , and Hannibal is the one he's chosen to cater to him. It is manipulative and indicative of Will's desperation, but Hannibal finds himself somewhat charmed by the knowledge. Charmed and somewhat hopeful. If Will has seen fit to use his biology in this way, it is for two reasons. Either he hopes to trap Hannibal in his snare, or he hopes to start rebuilding what they can. 

Even now, with Will's slick sweet and cloying over his tongue, Hannibal isn't certain which one is the truth. His senses are flooded by Will's scent, by the heat of his skin. If Jack is waiting, Hannibal can't smell him. Yet if he _is_ waiting, very few people will live to tell of the aftermath.

Hannibal thinks nothing of the comments he makes, though he can feel Will's irritation. He can sense the way he tenses, the mild affront lingering. Yet he doesn't take note of it until suddenly Will wrenches himself away, the sound between them wet and obscene. Hannibal _is_ somewhat taken aback, though when he licks the slick from his lips, he looks only thoughtful. 

"Until now," Hannibal surmises, drawing on Will's silence. "That's exactly what you've done. Showcased this fetishized side of yourself, in order to lure me here. You were quite blatant. Though I suppose there is a thin line between exhibitionism and a need for attention. _My_ attention."

There is no pride in Hannibal's voice, nor is there condemnation. He sounds only thoughtful, though the tone of his voice has lowered slightly in his own arousal. His hands move then, stroking up over the dip of Will's spine, touching the sweat-slick skin of his back before moving his hands back down to Will's ass. Hannibal squeezes, still almost distant. Then, after a moment, he moves his hands, hooking them around Will's thighs in order to bodily pull him back. 

Indulgence or punishment... perhaps this is both. 

"If you'd rather keep quiet, that is your prerogative," Hannibal says, and while his tone is mild, there is a frisson of disbelief in it, like he doesn't believe that Will _can_. "I'm sure this cannot be comfortable for you. But you've chosen me. You've _begged_ me. If you give me your patience, I can guarantee you pleasure. I want to give it to you."

Hannibal spreads his hands wide and his thumbs move in, spreading Will's cheeks for his tongue once more. He leans in and presses a wet kiss to Will's hole, then pushes against it quickly with his tongue, a promise of _more_.

* * *

Will's body is quite unhappy with him for wrenching himself away from Hannibal's sinful mouth. Well, tough luck. He's never been some docile Omega and he has no plans on starting that now, even with the emergence of his Heat. If he has something to say, he'll speak up. It's how he's always been and Will isn't going to change this aspect of his personality.

Hannibal suspects him as possibly engaging in another act of betrayal, of attempting to entrap him for Jack's purposes. Distantly the concern feels like heartburn, crawling up his throat and wanting to provoke a disgruntled response. But it's a tertiary issue, at best. The suspicion may hurt, but the Heat takes precedent. 

Two words: _until now._ Will's eyebrows pull in but he can't deny the assertion. It's true. They both know it. He consciously went off his suppressants for the purpose of inducing a Heat when he found Hannibal. Will is breathing quick, his skin cooling from all the wetness (slick and saliva) and the now non-presence of Hannibal near him. He doesn't flinch away from Hannibal's hand petting his lower back - the stupidly-simple gesture feeling like some form of alleviation - but he is surprised by the sudden jolt of Hannibal pulling him back.

He doesn't bother fighting because Hannibal is speaking.

_'If you'd rather keep quiet, that is your prerogative...'_

Fucking Christ. Agitation sparks through him. He just wants Hannibal to... To maybe admit that he would actually _like_ to hear his vocalizations. Instead, Hannibal just points out that this is all his fucking fault -- his doing. He's chosen this, chosen Hannibal and sure, begged even.

_'If you give me your patience, I can guarantee you pleasure. I want to give it to you.'_

This has Will's hackles lowering. His expression almost looks pained at the prospect of Hannibal _wanting_ at least something that involves him. Will swallows, but before he can even formulate some response, fingers spread him open and Hannibal moves back in. It's when the tip of Hannibal's tongue almost spears inside him that Will's head falls forward. His entire body clenches, struggling with being still a little affronted and also needing so much more.

"Please, please, fuck," he curses, his tone pitchier. It's easier to speak than hold back sounds. "Come on, inside me, please. Give it to me." 

Will means Hannibal's knot, but he'll accept his tongue. He'll accept anything at the moment.

* * *

It's such a small gesture, but Hannibal notices it eventually. At first he's none the wiser, only noticing the way that Will tenses up in front of him when he speaks about Will begging him for this. Yet when he continues and feels Will physically _relax_ once Hannibal mentions _wanting_ to give him pleasure, the understanding dawns. It makes sense, in retrospect. A response cannot properly be weighed without both sides present - reinforcement and punishment. Will tensing had been punishment, and Hannibal hadn't noticed until he'd felt Will relax. Given the way he and his instincts both take note, it takes Hannibal only a few seconds to understand what Will _actually_ wants from him.

The question is whether or not he wishes to give it to him.

A petulant, bitter part of Hannibal wishes to make this moment pleasurable but also use it to stress a different kind of lesson. _This_ isn't only how he wants Will, and that their first moment together will be colored by need and instinct and Heat still stings. There is so much that they need to say to each other, more than quiet whispers of forgiveness. 

Months have run between them. Will's face is less familiar, his stubble longer, his cheekbones sharper, his skin paler from lack of sunlight, and Hannibal knows that he has changed as well. Leaping into this without _knowing_ this new Will Graham - learning whether he is brave, or confident, or settled, or adrift - feels more uncomfortable.

 

Yet at their hearts, are they not the same men they were? Hannibal closes his eyes and breathes in Will's scent, rich and flavorful and dripping in sin. He feels it prickle along his spine, feels its instinctual fangs bite into his mind, deep and strong. Will sounds the same. He smells the same, with a few additions. Even bitter, Hannibal is not so cruel as to pretend that this moment doesn't also matter.

So when Will begs, Hannibal rumbles a low sound in his throat, would-be-power a whisper against Will's skin. "I will on one condition. I want you genuine. If this is to be our reunion, I won't waste a moment of it. You shouldn't either."

Hannibal's teeth scrape over the sensitive skin close to Will's hole. It's as much of an exclamation mark as he can physically indicate. And as Will reacts to that, Hannibal spreads him wider and delves back in with a rough exhale, licking twice more before tensing his tongue. Hannibal presses inside, tasting the burst of slick over his tongue and noting with some surprise that Will seems tighter than he'd have thought. 

While Hannibal had intended this to tease, to draw this out, perhaps this _is_ the proper course of action to take. He will not hurt Will like this, especially not during his first _official_ time. And it is with that in mind that Hannibal drags Will back and eases him up higher onto his knees, his tongue pushing and thrusting.

* * *

Later, Will may regret that he's begged Hannibal. He's never begged a partner before, just used the bare bones of manners once in a while, but certainly nothing like _this_. The word please has effortlessly slipped out of his mouth more times than Will would care to count. He has the horrible feeling that his dignity is going to go to the wind. It's only a matter of a time before his Heat will strip any self-respect away and leave him helpless to its pull.

Fuck. 

Panic tries to rear its head, to take control and demand attention, for Will to worry and doubt and regret--

But Hannibal answers him, his voice low and his words promising. Will pants, eyes fluttering as he tries to process what's been told to him. Every word counts. Every word from Hannibal is a word that Will hadn't thought he may ever get a chance to hear again. He wants to prove to himself - to Hannibal - that he's here of his own volition. This is what he wants. Perhaps it's not the best scenario (it's not), but it's what Will's chosen and forced them into.

Will has no plans on wasting a single moment. Teeth graze over delicate skin and Will doesn't hold back this time. He gasps loudly as the sharpness gives way to warm wetness as he's licked again. Will has no time to adjust because Hannibal's tongue stiffens and pushes inside of him. Will's thighs shake at the sheer burst of newly discovered pleasure. He clenches around Hannibal's tongue, his hole spasming like it's trying to draw Hannibal's tongue in deeper. His eyes squeeze shut. Will moans unabashedly when Hannibal's hands pull him back.

"God, Hann-- Hannibal," Will sputters, his fingers fanning out against the sheets. "Missed you more... More than I ever thought I could. More than I wanted to." Will is babbling, but it feels safer than simply taking it. "Dreamed about you--" Will makes an anguished sound at his revelation as if he hadn't been expecting to share it.

(He hadn't.) 

 

Will rocks back into Hannibal's tongue, his hole gradually loosening. Even though his cock has been neglected it lies heavy between his legs. Will is tremendously aroused, his body craving release and Will is somewhat surprised to realize that he may be able to come just from this. 

* * *

Hannibal has no plans of stopping. He knows that like this, Will won't feel truly sated until after he's been knotted, so Hannibal intends to take him through as much of this as he can. If this is to be Will's first Heat sex, Hannibal isn't going to rush in, mount him, and ruin what most Omegas see to be a special experience. 

He doubts that Will feels the same way, but Hannibal is not so cruel as to assume. Will had ached for a family once. Is it really so far-fetched to assume that he might want to draw this out? Even if _he_ doesn't, _Hannibal_ does. And right now Hannibal is the one in control, despite how rich and heady Will's scent is, and how thrilling it is to hear each sound that is dragged out of him. 

It's Hannibal's turn to groan lowly when Will's muscles twitch and then suddenly clench around his tongue. He'd been a physician. He knows the automatic response, the way Omegas clench in an effort to bring out the knot. Will's body knows what he's doing even if Will himself doesn't, and Hannibal gentles his thrusts. There is a thin line between overstimulation and pleasure, and given how sweet Will's slick is, Hannibal knows he's probably nearing the crest of his Heat. Hannibal will care for him then, but until then... until then he'll bask in this. In the squirm of Will's body, in the aching clench around his tongue, in the way Will moans and starts to babble.

Though he initially assumes the words to be senseless, it doesn't take long for Hannibal to realize that Will is speaking to him. His focus widens and he slows himself, and when the words register, Hannibal is surprised by the piercing power of them. They slide through the fascia and muscles around his ribs and feel like they're all but tearing down into his heart. His expression pinches, but it isn't until Will's anguished sound that Hannibal mirrors one, his nails biting slight welts into Will's thighs. Hannibal growls, the sound deep, and when he draws back just enough to press a wet kiss against Will's hole, he even sounds breathless.

"As did I. I felt your absence like a phantom limb," Hannibal says hotly against Will's skin. "You've not once left my thoughts. Let me do this for you," Hannibal adds, and his voice sounds almost like the pleas that Will had let out before.

He could reach down, could touch Will's cock, could wrap a hand around it, but he doesn't. Instead Hannibal moves back in and there's true hunger in the way he _takes_ this time. He uses his tongue, licking flat and then licking _in._ He can feel Will's tension rising and he knows that Will is quickly getting close. It's only then that Hannibal seals his lips around Will's swollen rim and sucks, his hands keeping Will as immobile as they can.

* * *

As control is gradually siphoned from him, Will wants to trust that Hannibal is going to remain and take care of him. It's a daunting prospect, but this is risk he's apparently willing to take. Once the decision had been made, his suppressants stopped, Will hadn't thought often about it. He remembered a little about his first Heat, the gnawing ache, the sweating, the itch, his hands shaking as he thrust the knotted dildo inside of himself seeking out relief at any cost.

This isn't like that. He doesn't need to talk. Will could try and simply enjoy himself, could let himself bathe in the sensations, but he wants to hold onto his rational self for as long as possible. Talking has always been an integral part of their dynamic. (But it's somewhat bittersweet to realize that, for all their conversing, they'd always been just a little guarded. The game had been afoot after all.)

The bite of nails is nice, just another layer of added sensation. The growl Hannibal gives in response has Will's thighs quivering and his stomach tightening. Its both disconcerting and interesting to be experiencing and observing how easily his hormonal body responds to Hannibal. Hannibal's tongue is withdrawn and Will gasps at the loss of feeling, unhappy about it and needing a few seconds to understand why.

Phantom limb... The analogy is fitting. And when Hannibal continues both his words and tone edge into something desperate that has Will beginning to unravel. Hannibal returns to the task, a renewed vigor present that has Will shaking in its intensity. He feels hot and wired, frantic and focused as has tries his best to grind against Hannibal's tongue despite the tight grip Hannibal has on him.

"You know-- you know that this won't satisfy me," Will gasps out, but despite his statement, he feels his orgasm steadily creeping up on him. Will's eyelids flutter, he grasps at the bedsheets, palms sweaty, his entire body burning up as Hannibal's tongue licks and thrusts inside, opening him and learning him in an entirely new and intimate way. He comes with a half-bitten off cry, his entire body shuddering as pleasure surges through him, come spitting out of his cock. 

It's good, but Will knows it's not enough.

* * *

Hannibal does know that this won't satisfy Will. He isn't intending it to. Why would he immediately rush to satisfy this man? If Jack _is_ in the eaves, Hannibal intends to take as much from this encounter as he can, and if he's _not_... well. Will has done much to warrant cruelty, but so has Hannibal. They have both metaphorically snarled and attacked and bitten and scarred. Hannibal's anger and bitterness do not quiet the aching within, nor does it silence the longing. Given that Will has been brought to _this -_ using his Heat as a lure - it is safe to assume that Will feels the same. Perhaps a small part of Hannibal (or one larger than he wants it to be) wants to make this memorable. To apologize, to cling, to _feel_ this connection despite the miles of bitterness under them.

So he thrusts with his tongue. He indulges in inelegance. He presses in, spreads Will wide, and sucks and licks and delves into his slick until it's dripping from his chin. His focus is absolute, and when he feels Will start to tremble, when he scents his Heat spiking, Hannibal's growl is low and coaxing and somewhat demanding. He lets Will grind back against his face as he takes, and when he feels Will's hole suddenly spasm around his tongue and tastes the quick rush of slick and need that spills over his tongue, Hannibal moans and swallows it down. He feasts on Will's skin in a way far more socially acceptable than is his typical norm, and he takes him through the sheer pleasure that rocks through him. 

It's a heady sensation, one that weighs on Hannibal's senses. Yet he knows that despite his satisfaction, it isn't going to be enough. His own cock aches, tenting his pants obscenely. Yet he doesn't reach for himself, doesn't undo his slacks. Instead Hannibal waits only for the wracking twitches of Will's body to quiet down. Then he draws back with a final sucking kiss and immediately sets one hand on Will's back, both to keep him in place as well as for support. Hannibal wets his lips, breathing hard, and there's a satisfied air about him as he eases in closer and then moves two of his fingers in. There's ample slick on Will's skin and Hannibal uses it to coat his fingers with. Then, aware that Will's body is going to _need_ still, he doesn't hesitate to sink one into the tight, gripping heat, and then follow it with another when he deems Will's body relaxed enough.

"I am not intending this to be over so quickly," Hannibal breathes, and his voice is rough with desire as he sinks his fingers into the scorching heat and then curls them. He is relentless, going right for Will's prostate.

"Yet there is nothing that says I cannot give you as much pleasure as I can until you _need_ satisfaction."

* * *

It's a wet, messy affair. There's a rush of come and slick and Will knows Hannibal's saliva has only added to the wetness. Will shakes and he hears a delicious rumble of growl that only spurs him on as he comes on his stomach, over his scar. He's never been this sensitive before and it's peculiar to think that he's just come from Hannibal's tongue. No knot, no dick stimulation whatsoever. Huh.

He'll likely think about it later, right now the thought floats away as Will tries to get himself back under control, chest heaving and breathing deeply. He has the odd thought of thanking Hannibal for the orgasm, but he doesn't allow the word to form let alone come out of his mouth. A kiss is paid to his hole before Hannibal's mouth pulls away entirely and it has Will grimacing because it sounds so damn _obscene_. A hand comes to his back and Will immediately knows he's not to move. A part of him is tempted to look back over his shoulder and shoot Hannibal a 'what now?' look, but Will resists. 

Soon enough, fingers are rubbed through the copious amounts of slick covering his skin and Will groans as one finger carefully enters him. Will bites on his lip. This is more teasing as a finger can go deeper than a tongue, but Will doesn't whine. He lets the sensation fill him, the easy stretching that Hannibal meticulously draws out and when a second finger is added Will can't help but push back encouragingly. 

Hannibal's words are no surprise. Of course the sadist in Hannibal would delight in drawing this out. Will imagines he'll be able to orgasm a handful of times before the need to be knotted shrieks through him. It's not... an entirely unpleasant thought, but there's an antsy impatience that wants now and a very real niggling fear that Hannibal may _not_ knot or bite him. 

Fingers seeking inside of him have Will wrenched out of his head and Will falls forward onto his forearms, forehead pressed to the bed as his ass lifts and presents for Hannibal. Will's hole spasms at the sensitive jolt that such a small touch has awoken and it's rather difficult to listen to Hannibal's words when ' _fuck me, fuck me_ ' is ringing in his head like some damn alarm bell. Will squirms, half trying to get away from the touch and half wanting more. The prostate is confusing and Will isn't overly experienced on the receiving end of ass-stuff. 

"Sa-sadist," Will gasps out. His nails claw at the bedsheets. He rocks back onto Hannibal's fingers, all too aware of just how wet he is and the sound that accompanies Hannibal's fingers inside of him. "Fuck me like you mean it. 'nother-- another finger... Please."

* * *

The scent of sweat, come, slick, and arousal are almost stifling in the room, a heady tease of what Hannibal finds he wants more than anything. He cannot draw Will's pleasure out slowly like this; his Heat won't allow it. So instead Hannibal's focus is on giving Will as much as he possibly can. As much pleasure, as much contact, as much favor... later, perhaps, if this is not a deception, he will indulge the way he'd have chosen, but he will not fault Will his biology right now. He will only fault their circumstances. That he is bringing Will to orgasm on a bed that is not his own, not wrapped in silks and softness, is unfortunate. Next time, if there _is_ a next time, Hannibal will plan for it.

 

But as he feels the wet, gripping heat inside of Will's body, feels the flex of muscles and the slickness within him, Hannibal has to struggle to stay focused. It is quite difficult to do so, for the way Will presses back enthusiastically - pressing his rim against Hannibal's knuckles and rocking back still - is heady with temptation. The desire to bite, to mount, to shove Will down, to _take_ is strong. It is also somewhat barbaric, and Hannibal breathes through the urge, calming his own instincts as much as he can. 

He focuses instead on Will's body, on the slick sounds every time Hannibal thrusts with his fingers, and on the way Will falls forward on his forearms, presenting so perfectly. Though the way that Will squirms when Hannibal pays attention to his prostate _is_ interesting until Hannibal remembers that Will has not had Heat sex before. Hannibal wonders, quite blatantly, if Will has been penetrated at _all_ before. 

"Are we not both sadists in our own right?" Hannibal asks quietly as Will claws at the sheets and rocks back against his hand. Hannibal curls his fingers again, almost punishing, and glances between Will's legs, swallowing as he looks at Will's cock - still flushed and wet at its tip from his last orgasm. Hannibal thrusts his fingers in harder, aiming to see how sensitive Will truly is like this.

"Have you ever done this before?" 

Hannibal draws his fingers out slowly and gathers slick up on them again before pressing back in, though this time he does so with three. The sensation of Will's wet heat around him, gripping and twitching, is enough to make Hannibal bite back a growl. Instead he slides his free hand down to set beside Will on the bed and then leans over him. His lips find Will's back, pressing kisses up Will's spine, soaking in the scent of his sweat. 

All the while, his fingers don't stop thrusting once, and as Hannibal takes Will's words to heart, he does not go easy on him, thrusting one moment, and then curling to focus a precise pressure and attention on Will's prostate the next. 

* * *

Come cooling on his skin is a little gross, but it's a sensation and a fact that's easily ignored by Will. The struggle of the A/C unit blasting cool air is a background sound that Will can't even pick up on. It's all fuck-sounds and groans, the bed shaking at times. Will's eyes are tightly closed as Hannibal's fingers push into him. One, two, three, Will doesn't really know how many fingers Hannibal is using but _more_ streaks through Will's body so he first tries to demand another finger but then does add on please.

Because Will still knows that Hannibal is not pleased with him or the situation. Will is at Hannibal's mercy here. Spread out and shaking, pushing back like a bitch in Heat, which is exactly what he is right now. It feels like they've been at this for hours, how is Hannibal resisting him? How is Hannibal not fucking him immediately? An insidious panic creeps through him because what if Hannibal is going to Lord this over him, what if Hannibal is disgusted by this flare of Omegan weakness?

Will doesn't answer the stupid rhetorical question about them both being sadists in their own rights. He likely couldn't have even formulated one as those cunning fingers curl again and Will is shuddering and cursing under his breath. The next question Will knows he has to answer. It's a question of practicality. He's opening his mouth to answer when fingers are removed and the feeling of _empty_ is so disconcerting. Is this it? Is Hannibal done and leaving him? Will's hands clench into fists and he's about to crawl away.

He can do this. He's not going to fucking beg anymore.

But then Hannibal's fingers return. The fullness is more and Will sighs in utter fucking _relief._ _Thank God_. While he's got his mind about him, Will answers, "Yeah-- yes, but not-- not that much." 

He interrupts himself with a moan as fingers press against his prostate again. Until this, Will had purposefully dated and slept with women who were Betas or Omegas. A few of them had been curious and Will had let them explore his ass and slick but they had giggled and not been too pushy about it. 

He feels light kisses placed along his spine and it has goosebumps raising on his skin. After a deep breath he continues. "Usually just fucked female Beta or Omegas," Will rushes out. "Got fucked once when-- when I was in college." 

Now Hannibal knows his staggering inexperience in this area. Will closes his eyes again and tries to ignore the incessant need to be knotted. He knows Hannibal has no plans on rushing to it so he has to bear this.

Will's toes curl as he rocks back onto fingers, somewhat amazed that it could feel this good. Is it just because Hannibal knows what he's doing or is it because it's Hannibal? How much of this is his Heat? These are questions he doesn't have answers to.

* * *

Hannibal can see the fissures forming slowly. Will's mask is clear and strong, but he is still wracked with Heat and need and so Hannibal can see through the damning signs of uncertainty. He can read the tension in Will's body as his fingers withdraw, and every now and then Will's scent begins to edge close to something distressed. Hannibal shoves back the instinctual need to reassure, instead focusing on the task at hand. He has no plans on leaving Will now, but he supposes Will has no way of knowing that. Had Hannibal's last action between them not been to leave Will broken and bleeding out on the floor of his kitchen? That Will is _here_ is evidence of madness. 

But it's madness that Hannibal shares. Folie à deux. His lips press to the small of Will's back as he presses his fingers back in and wastes no time in pushing, in _taking_. Will's answering moans and squirms are thrilling, and the desire to lean down and taste the slick squelching out from around his fingers is definitely tempting. Perhaps he will. For now, he needs information, and while it does take Will some time to answer him, when he does, he gives as much information as he's able. Hannibal hums his appreciation. 

He thinks back to Will's fascination with Alana, with Margot. Both strong women. Somehow it seems fitting that Will hasn't given into his Omegan side much before. Once, while it sparks a thin thread of jealousy within, is not enough to get Will used to the sensation. Many Omegas Will's age _demand_ to be allowed to give into their nature. 

As Hannibal's fingers press and rub, he cannot help the small thread of pride he feels at Will going against his nature the same way Hannibal has managed to. Even bitter and angry, they are still alike. Perhaps Hannibal makes a point to reward Will in his own way, curling his fingers and keeping them curled as he pulls them out. It's likely enough to mime the first tease of a knot, and given how wet Will is now, Hannibal suspects he's once again nearing his edge. 

"So you are giving me a gift," Hannibal muses, and then finally leans down again. He licks around his fingers, growling softly at the taste of slick over the digits and against Will's skin. The desire to just wrench his fingers free and _mount_ is difficult to ignore, but Hannibal manages. Instead, aware that Will's body will be crying out for _something_ before long, Hannibal shifts and leans over him, pressing his weight down against Will's back, an attempt to settle him. 

"I encourage you to stay with me mentally, Will. Whatever anxieties you might be facing, dismiss them. Live in this moment with me."

* * *

Will isn't prepared for Hannibal's fingers to crook and pull out in such a way that it hints of a knot. Excitement streaks through Will, his hole clenching even if it's a farce. He wants, needs-- finally--

Then it's an alarming feeling of despair when his body figures out it's not a real knot. Hannibal's words wound, but Will doesn't think it's Hannibal's intent. Will giving a gift... He wants to cry at the insinuation. He wants to laugh at the irony. He does nothing because he feels Hannibal's face press close and that damnable tongue lick at the excess slick around his hole -- around Hannibal's own fingers that are still inside. 

Will bucks back, needing so much more than mere teasing and licking. Hannibal has to know, he's not clueless. Will is beginning to dread the feeling of desperation but he has no one to blame but himself.

The effect of Hannibal leaning atop him, the weight and warmth _is_ somewhat calming. Will arches into Hannibal, he makes a pleased sound, he feels safer... which then mentally infuriates Will that Hannibal resting on him fucking matters _this_ much. Will knows he needs to be knotted to be truly sated and yet--

_'Live in this moment with me.'_

Will huffs. He uncurls his toes and breathes deeply. Easier said than done. He feels the growing jittery urge hit him again and Will shifts, pushing back on the fingers inside of him. 

"Promise you won't-- won't leave me," Will grits out. This isn't what he wants to say, but perhaps it's what needs to be said. "And why are you dressed still? Want to feel you, Hannibal," Will adds on in a rush.

* * *

Hannibal is slightly taken aback by the sheer force in Will's muscles in those seconds before Will's body realizes that Hannibal has not yet knotted him. He shivers deeply, arousal rushing low, and Hannibal's slacks are tented so clearly now that it is truly uncomfortable. Even so, he breathes through the discomfort and he focuses anew on Will, on every shifting movement, on every rock and sound of need. 

While Hannibal has never viewed Will as the Omega he is, he can't help but ache with the need to bite and mount and _knot_. His control is not endless, and Hannibal knows very well that soon the decision will either be to leave the room or give in. As he settles against Will's body, attempting to calm some of his visceral anxiety and need, Hannibal knows that there isn't so much as a single question over what he intends to do.

Except, that is, to Will. Hannibal is so focused on the scent of Will's skin and the gripping heat of his body around his fingers that he doesn't register Will's sudden request until it's already out. Stilling, Hannibal shifts, levering himself away from Will just enough to look down at him in surprise. That Will could even begin to believe that Hannibal _could_ leave him at this point...

Perhaps he could. Perhaps he could walk out and leave Will to deal with this on his own, but he won't. Bitter and angry and forced into this moment as the both of them are, Hannibal has experienced life without Will Graham. At his core, he has no interest in it. So while something in his heart and instincts both sting at the implication, Hannibal simply regards Will and then leans in. He presses a simple kiss to Will's shoulder.

"I promise I won't leave you," Hannibal says lowly, with no hint of deception present. He isn't going to talk circles around Will's fears. Not now. 

"And," Hannibal breathes, shifting enough to press his hips in against Will's thigh, close enough that Will has to be able to feel the hardness, "I am dressed as were I to feel you bare like this, I doubt I would have _any_ control left. You are ravishing."

His teeth scrape Will's shoulder, perhaps a little sharper than strictly necessary, and Hannibal begins to thrust with his fingers in earnest, curling and twisting and reveling in the sopping wet sounds of Will's slick. Hannibal growls low against Will's skin. 

"Will you let me see you come again?"

* * *

It's all too obvious in the way that Hannibal shifts that he's surprised by what Will has said. And Will knows it's not the comment about being overdressed either. The thing is, anything is possible with Hannibal. Abigail's ear fed down his throat, and months later she had turned out to be alive. If anyone could walk out after or during Heat sex it would be Hannibal. Hannibal could do it. Hannibal could break his heart like the fucking teacup dropped to the floor--

Will feels Hannibal's eyes on him. He feels the judgement. Worthy? Unworthy? Needy? His answer comes in the form of a kiss gifted to his shoulder and the promise that Hannibal won't leave. A choked sound is heard. 

It's Will's who had made the sound. It takes him an honest few seconds to realize it. There's no mirth in Hannibal's tone. Nothing sinister or complicated. It's the truth. Stated simply. For him. Because he'd asked. Hannibal isn't going to leave him...

When Hannibal speaks again and shifts, Will feels the blatant hardness of Hannibal's still-clothed cock press against him. Will shivers and only grows wetter as Hannibal speaks of diminished control. Ravishing? The word seems odd to be applied to himself. Will doesn't know if he's ravishing, more like a needy bitch but teeth scraping against his shoulder provide a delightful distraction as does Hannibal's fingers pumping in. Will shuts his eyes as pleasure and relief mingle freely. 

_'Will you let me see you come again?'_

The question excites Will and his mouth is moving before he can stop it. "Fuck yes, please, want to-- I want to." 

And Will does. Hannibal's interest, Hannibal's touch, it's like a decadence Will never wants to stop indulging in. He pushes back and lets the sensations wash over him. The sounds of being finger-fucked are drown out by Will groaning because now that his biggest fear has been addressed, he wants to give into this.

He does. And Hannibal's fingers thrust ruthlessly inside him, curling periodically and causing Will to shudder and in a matter of minutes, Will is breathing haggardly and keening into Hannibal's touch and when he orgasms, it's dry save for the gush of slick. 

* * *

When Will's mind has cleared, if they make the decision to continue, if this is no farce, Hannibal suspects that Will is going to be a force for his control. The soft choked noise is like a fire under Hannibal's skin, blazing hot and violent. The urge to bare his teeth, to sink them deeply into Will's nape, or into another one of his scent glands is so strong that Hannibal can feel the saliva starting to form, his instincts hopeful. 

Yet right now is not the time to bite, not when they are both so wrecked, not when they both need with such blatant ferocity. Hannibal can feel the desire climbing higher, can sense the need to mount, to knot, to pin Will in place and _take_ , but he focuses instead on that soft, choked noise and Will's additional voiced desire to come for Hannibal again.

As if the words had been a promise, Hannibal goes quiet, watching as Will writhes and squirms and pushes back against the driving force of his fingers. Hannibal knows how to properly stimulate the prostate, knows how to draw Will closer and closer to orgasm, but it is Will's choice to allow it. What Hannibal is suggesting would be difficult for any Omega, Heat notwithstanding. So when Will babbles his enthusiasm and Hannibal feels the arousal and tension rising in Will's body from one moment to the next, he doesn't let up. He drives his fingers in and rubs with a focused attention, feeling each twitch and spasm of Will's hole around his fingers like it's a decadence of its own. 

And when Will's hole begins to twitch, when Hannibal feels the increase of pressure against his fingers and then feels the tight, rhythmic clenching, he cannot help his hunger as he watches Will shudder and listens to the beautiful desperate keen of his voice, loud enough to likely disturb the neighbors. No one in their right mind would dare interrupt a Heat, though, so Hannibal feels no hesitation in drawing Will's orgasm out as long as he possibly can, feeling each clenching twitch and aching to sink deep inside, to feel Will even more intimately.

When Will's body has finally calmed enough that the twitching of his hole has more or less stopped, Hannibal wastes no time in once more leaning back down. Slick slides over the front of his black dress shirt but Hannibal pays it no mind as he spreads Will wide and laps up the excess slick like he'd like nothing more than to feast on Will for decades. He groans low in his throat at the taste, at the honeyed wetness, and a part of him is tempted to delve back in just like this. 

"Well done," Hannibal says, and his voice is thick and warm with praise that transcends the bad blood between them. "Beautiful. Exactly as I asked."

* * *

He's never had a dry orgasm before. Will is off balance as he slowly realizes that he hasn't come, at least not the traditional sense. He's orgasmed, he's felt the searing bliss hit him and leave him shaking and a little dizzy, slick has gushed out, but he hasn't come. 

He knows he's being louder, but he's certain no one will interrupt them. Will lets himself enjoy the somewhat strange orgasm, moaning and shuddering, his asshole clenching around fingers and still aching for more. It's honestly disconcerting to feel like such a nymphomaniac, but the Heat buzzes incessantly and Hannibal is who and what he wants. Will had known it before but the hormones are amplifying everything. He knows it's not just sex, it's not just an Alpha's knot he wants. His instincts may dictate that need, but Will's heart is not shut off. His mind is still here.

Fingers ease out but Hannibal's mouth quickly descends as his ass is parted and Hannibal seeks to lick the extra slick up. Will squirms and pants but doesn't try and get away. There's sensitivity but he's too stunned to put up much of a fight. He takes it, hands gripping the sheets as Hannibal's tongue licks, tastes and effectively cleans. 

When Hannibal stops, praise comes Will's way next and Will is conflicted because he _likes_ it but a part of him doesn't want to be doing exactly as Hannibal had asked on principal. Perhaps in defiance, Will turns around and looks at Hannibal. Hannibal's hair is dishevelled, his clothes in disarray, lips wet, pants tented. It's quite the sight to know that he's done this. On his knees, Will crawls over to Hannibal. 

"Kiss me," he says.

* * *

Hannibal doesn't have to wonder if this has ever happened to Will before or not. He knows. It's a well-kept secret that the male body can negate the refractory period in a sense, at least up to a point. Will may or may not have gotten hard; Hannibal doesn't care. He cares that he'd given Will pleasure, that Will had felt the deep, aching bliss of an orgasm centered around his prostate, not his cock. 

Undoubtedly a hand to his cock would have made it feel more conflicting, but Hannibal had known what he'd been doing. Or, in those small moments of uncertainty, he had trusted Will's Heat to make him intensely sensitive, enough to _need_. So he's careful as he coaxes Will back down from orgasm, and when he tastes his slick once more, the urge to just not pull away is biting and strong. 

He's not in a rut, though Hannibal knows that he very well could be. He suspects that any other Alpha would have been after seeing their Omega come already, let alone twice. And as Hannibal gazes down at Will's sweat-slick back and chases the taste of Will's slick from his lips, Hannibal fails to notice that he'd thought the words ' _their Omega'._ Perhaps he is not so unaffected. 

So when Will turns back to look at him, Hannibal doesn't attempt to make himself look put together. He can feel the wetness of Will's slick on his chin and his dress shirt, and he suspects that his slacks are not only tented but also damp where the head of his cock presses against the fabric. He doesn't bother trying to hide how breathless he is, nor how dark his eyes are as Will sluggishly turns around on his hands and knees. Given that Hannibal's instinct is to growl and turn Will back the way he had been, he is only _just_ managing his control. Even the bitterness cannot truly cut through the fondness Hannibal had felt, nor the crush of his instincts.

Will's request, half-demand, half-soft throws him, though. Hannibal stills, for it seems almost implausible that they've gone this far without doing something so chaste, so intimate. Perhaps Hannibal had _felt_ like he'd kissed this man many times over - gathering Will in a blanket, cleaning his wounds, all but pressing up behind him, inviting him to dinner - but Will is right. Despite everything, they haven't indulged in this one simple thing. 

Something in Hannibal's eyes softens, and though his chin is a mess of slick and his fingers are soaked with the same, Hannibal simply reaches over. He touches Will's cheek, cupping his jaw, and Hannibal strokes his thumb - comparatively dry - over Will's cheekbone. He says nothing. Instead, without needing to be asked again, Hannibal leans in and presses a kiss to Will's lips, chaste, barely a meeting of lips. Somehow it is this sensation that truly threatens to wreck him. 

* * *

There has also been tenderness from Hannibal. More tenderness than occurrences of violence like a blade to Will's gut, honestly. Hannibal had been polite and courteous, at first. A hand on Will's back or forearm to guide him. Hannibal had never treated him as if he was of lower status. It hadn't mattered that Will was an Omega, that he was uncultured and blunt and had too many dogs... Hannibal had gently tended to his bloody swollen knuckles. Doctored him, bandaged him all the while _pleased_ radiated off of Hannibal. Hannibal had cupped his face after Ingram... before shoving the knife in too.

The frenzy is what Will is used to. The need pounding in his head like a war drum, but right now Will wants something else. He wants something more than pressure and fullness and fucking, more than the base desire of a knot. He wants Hannibal's mouth. Yes, it may be wet. Will is going to taste himself - his slick - if they kiss, but he needs to touch Hannibal. He needs more of Hannibal. It can't just be base primal urges, it _can't._ Not now, not after everything.

With a longing Will isn't entirely prepared for, he gazes at Hannibal and he sees recognition and understanding. A mostly dry hand comes to rest against the side of his face. Will leans into the touch and he knows when Hannibal moves, there won't be pain this time.

Their lips meet, light and gentle, a brushing of souls and Will feels arousal and an ache mix so beautifully. He kisses back, the faintest of touches, and Will can taste his slick. It's not exactly bad, but it doesn't appeal to him. Still, Will kisses harder, he licks at Hannibal, he learns and experiences and feels and lets the sensations wash over him. He drinks in each miniscule touch, the drag of stubble, the warmth, full lips open to him...

And Will may be an Omega, but he doesn't think twice when the urge to nip at Hannibal's bottom lip rises. He does it and he's not especially soft about it as he's sure Hannibal can take the flare of pain. It's with half-lidded eyes that Will goes back in for another kiss, needy and insistent. 

* * *

The kiss is soft and chaste, a slow, growing familiarity as they _finally_ take this step. Will's body has to be aching and throbbing with need by now, and Hannibal can feel the same aching desire, though undoubtedly in a different way. The instinct to care and nurture is strong, just as the instinct to properly sate Will also is, but Hannibal is strong against the pull of instinct. He always has been. 

But this... this gentle, searching caress of lips, this slowly-growing need as Will gently kisses him and then begins to press for more is something entirely different. Hannibal has no defense for this.

For _this_ is what he'd wanted so desperately. Before Will had made his choice, before he'd chosen Jack Crawford, before Hannibal had known that Will's offer to mate with him had been manipulation, he'd ached for this creature. Perhaps not entirely in this way, but close. He'd never seen Will as _just_ an Omega, just a body to breed, a subservient creature with no discernible personality as many Alphas so often seem to think. 

Will Graham had been different. A rare equal, not the sum of his parts or the prejudice regarding his gender. Hannibal had only ever wanted _him_.

There's no guarantee that he has Will now, though in this moment, with Will's tongue tasting his lips and Will's own slick, Hannibal believes he is the closest he's been yet. His fingers curl back and stroke through Will's damp hair, slow and full, his touch aimed to _truly_ feel. The kiss deepens mutually, from Will's licks to Hannibal's touch, so when sharp teeth suddenly find Hannibal's bottom lip, there is no surprise present. 

All there is, is pride, for of course Will would have teeth even now. The pain and the knowledge both settle something in Hannibal's chest, and when Will eagerly leans in for another kiss, Hannibal curls his fingers into Will's hair and holds him close, drawing him in closer and deepening the kiss further.

Will must be able to taste himself on Hannibal's tongue and the thought sends heat curling low through him. Will's taste is still sweet on his tongue and Hannibal knows he could bask in it anew many times over. For now, he draws Will into a deeper kiss, chasing his taste and the rough, enticing drag of stubble over his own chin. The sensation is unique and Hannibal feels his control take a hit as Will's eagerness begins to grow. 

He can scent it, can sense it, and Hannibal holds Will close as he kisses him breathless, until Hannibal's own lungs begin to cry for air. Only then does he break the kiss.

"That it took that long is... almost cruel," Hannibal breathes. 

His free hand moves down, trailing over Will's skin. He passes his hand over Will's chest, pinching at one nipple before moving down. Hannibal avoids Will's cock, though it still brushes against the sleeve on his forearm, and two fingers move back to press against Will's hole, slowly pressing back into that slick heat. Will's mind won't be so clear for long, and Hannibal intends to bring him to the edge of his control. 

* * *

Will's never exactly been a huge fan of kissing, but kissing Hannibal is something entirely different than previous endeavors. Yeah, maybe it's because desire is tainted by his Heat, but Will doesn't think that's all of it. The kissing feels like a final culmination of too many lingering gazes and licked lips. It's what they both had wanted to do after Will swallowed an ortolan. It feels like a drop of absolution and Will wants more, thirsts for more. 

This isn't about sex and fucking. It's not about getting Hannibal's knot and gaining a mating bite either. Yes, those urges affect Will, they color this whole interaction, but they have a history. And their history drives them both together. Will couldn't have known that after Jack had introduced the Doctor to him, that nothing would ever be the same. Of course, their meeting had equally altered Hannibal's course too because Hannibal hadn't been able to resist playing and getting involved with all of them. Hannibal's meddling may have started from a distanced curiosity, but it's funny how betrayal and violence make things ever so personal. 

How could it not? Framed for Hannibal's crimes, more than a few attempts at Hannibal's life, Will attempting to play both sides, but helplessly becoming more entangled within Hannibal's sticky web. 

Will doesn't want the careful distance ever again. He doesn't want Hannibal on the other side of a cell looking back at him. So Will lets Hannibal draw him in closer, he takes and gives and when Hannibal pulls away, Will is also breathless. He inhales and exhales and even though he's getting oxygen, Will feels winded. Will has no response for Hannibal's statement, that it had been so long for them to kiss. Will stares back at Hannibal, unashamed in his longing. He hasn't been able to see Hannibal, to really take him in. Hannibal's hair is longer and free and Will both likes it and hates it.

He likes it because it's Hannibal unrestrained, but he hates it because this is who Hannibal has created himself to be with Bedelia.

A hand travels down his skin, pinching a nipple that has Will flinching and unsure about the sensation. Before he can say or do anything, Hannibal of course takes charge and the wandering hand moves lower and without any thought Will fucking spreads his legs, hungry for anything. Once more, his cock is ignored save for the accidental brush of fabric against it. Fingers push back inside Will and he pants, his body clenching greedily around the intrusion, desperate and seeking the relief of a knot that is not there. Will shakes and grimaces at Hannibal, a look of distress on his features. 

"Dammit, please, Hannibal," Will grits out. He's trying to not whine, to not whimper and turn around and shove his ass in the air hoping to tempt his Alpha.

Wait. _His_ Alpha? Well, Hannibal had said he wouldn't leave him... But Hannibal hadn't promised to bite him. Will just has to hope.

* * *

Will's body is both lax and tight and Hannibal quietly marvels at the adaptations of the Omegan form. To keep the muscle rigidity needed while still welcoming any attempts to mate is quietly thrilling. Hannibal shivers as he feels the tight grip of Will's body around his fingers, feels the wetness, the slick, the silken walls of Will's hole gripping in need. Any other Alpha would have succumbed before now, and Hannibal cannot truly blame them. 

Yet this is more than simply Alpha and Omega. This is the two of them. This is Will needing and Hannibal able to help, and yet is this not also the other way around? As angry as he's been, as bitter, the taste of Will's slick is still rich on his tongue. He's here. He'd not elected to leave Will to his own devices, nor will he. Hannibal breathes out harder between his teeth and feels the way Will's body clenches around his fingers, needing, seeking, desperate. He wets his lips.

Then Will looks at him, his expression creased, his skin flushed, and Hannibal sees the first real crack in Will's control. Desperation seeps through him like water through a crack in a dam. Hannibal observes it, feels the searing heat of Will's body, and while Will doesn't whine or beg, Hannibal can scent the silent scream of need between them in the heady scent of Will's desire. It's getting more and more difficult to hold himself back, and as Hannibal looks at Will, as he reads the plea in his eyes, he makes his decision.

He'd wanted this man begging, but denial is not the only way to accomplish that. A low sound rumbles from Hannibal's throat, rougher, allowing his instinct to take note. In his slacks, his cock throbs with need and Hannibal breathes in, sampling the air between them. 

Then, without further warning, Hannibal sets one hand on Will's hip and pulls, shoving him off balance and not removing his fingers as he sends Will down to land on his back on the bed. Hannibal immediately moves closer, bending down over him and scenting the skin beneath Will's jaw, where his scent is sharpest.

"A smart man would make you beg," Hannibal says softly, his fingers curling pointedly in Will's hole. Hannibal scrapes his teeth over Will's throat. "Yet when have I ever been a smart man when it comes to you?"

There's a hint of something old and bitter in Hannibal's voice, but he soothes it away with another scrape of his teeth. He pulls his fingers from Will's body and immediately the sound of a buckle being undone and zipper being pulled down follows. Hannibal makes no sound as he eases himself free of his slacks, shivering at the sensation of the seemingly-colder air against his cock. He needs only to wrap his hand - covered in Will's slick - around himself once for a slow stroke to truly feel the weight of this. And while a part of him wishes to linger, to _make_ Will voice his desires, Hannibal doesn't need to hear them. Will has been ready for hours.

"Look at me. If you close your eyes, I will stop," Hannibal warns, though his voice is somehow still kind. 

It's the only warning he gives before he presses the head of his cock to Will's wet hole and grinds his teeth against the flood of desire he feels at being _so close_. The growl rumbles low in his throat as he begins to push, easing himself bit by bit into Will's body and basking in the searing heat. That he is the first gives him nothing but a visceral satisfaction, but it also ensures that he remains slow, giving Will time to adjust to what must be a greater stretch than he's used to.

* * *

Maybe Will doesn't _need_ Hannibal to Bite him. Maybe they don't need to bond in the literal and medical sense either. Maybe it's there already. Something has to be there, some connection, some thread wrapped around them like the red thread of fate connecting them, stretching across the miles and oceans and never breaking.

Hannibal is here with him. Despite their betrayals, Hannibal has promised to not leave after this. This assurance is everything to Will. It hardens his resolve about leaving his old self behind, of putting that conflicted man to rest. He'd known he hurt Hannibal just like Hannibal has wounded him by snatching away Abigail. 

But the broken heart left for him in the Capella Paletina... It had been a sign, a flare set off into the night sky and it's no question that Will has slunk low to lure Hannibal to him with his biology, but desperate men behave desperately and they tease out desperation within each other. Will just hopes they don't burn in the fires they stoke, in the flames they encourage to grow higher and higher.

Will feels like he's burning _now_ and Hannibal is the only thing that can sate him. So Will says please, his body clenches around Hannibal's fingers, hungry, ravenous. It's not quite a growl that Hannibal gives, but it's close enough and it has Will's heart rate speeding up, his body responding. And there are no words or warning given when Hannibal pushes him back. Indignation still flares within Will and he glares-- but Hannibal leans over him, his nose nudging along his scent glands and Will squirms underneath, unhappy at what's being said.

He doesn't want to beg. Will feels like he's already debased himself enough and whatever scraps he can keep, he's going to fiercely fucking keep. Will doesn't say that, though. He knows he can't be too combative in this, he is essentially at Hannibal's mercy after all. Fingers pull out and Will grunts at the loss, but it soon becomes apparent that Hannibal is undressing. Will isn't shy as he lifts his head to watch Hannibal do just that.

He's given an ultimatum and it's not surprising in the least for Hannibal to want more control, to want him to not shirk away in any possible manner. Will gives a shaky nod and he lies his head back down. His eyes remain open and he spreads his legs as Hannibal comes to situate himself between them. The silky heat of Hannibal's cockhead presses against him and Will inhales deeply, shuddering as he hears the responding growl and then _feels_ the push of Hannibal breaching him.

Will's hands can't remain idle any longer. They reach up and clasp onto Hannibal's forearms. It is a larger stretch than fingers had been and it's not entirely pleasant, but why should it be? The ache only heightens the experience and Will is gasping as Hannibal steadily slots himself in. Will's instincts are singing, his body is hot and receptive and buzzing with sensation. He doesn't close his eyes and he doesn't dare look away. 

"It's good," Will breathes out. "...Th-thank you." For going slower, for being here, for not leaving, for allowing himself to be found... There's too much to say. There will always be too much to say. Something breaks. "Fuck, Hannibal," Will's hands grip harder. "Please, I just-- I don't want--" 

He shakes with the effort it takes to _stop_ himself from talking. Now hardly seems like the appropriate time, but thoughts and feelings are surging through him and he knows Hannibal isn't likely going to believe whatever he says anyway.

* * *

Will's body is a scorching heat, still tight despite his heat, and practically dripping with slick. Despite the acres of bitterness between them, Hannibal cannot deny that Will smells sweeter than anything he's ever had the pleasure of scenting before. The moment that Hannibal breaches him, the moment he presses in deeper, that scent just increases, flooding over Hannibal's senses, threatening to throw him into the rut he refuses to give into, though it's becoming more difficult. He has never been a slave to these emotions, to these sensations, but that it is _Will_ has made all the difference. 

Hannibal goes slow, though even as he sinks into Will's body, he knows his control will not be endless. His reasons for holding back had been out of bitterness, yes, but also out of the knowledge that Will Graham is a hurricane, a natural disaster, bringing destruction to Hannibal's control, his sense of self. Even now Hannibal feels caught, breathless, his brow furrowed as he struggles for focus. 

It is difficult when Will stills, but when Will _thanks_ him, when hands suddenly grab at his forearms, it becomes almost monumental. Through it all, through the discomfort, the intensity, the need, Will's eyes never close. He looks up at Hannibal, heat and desire and many different kinds of need burning in his gaze, and Hannibal realizes the danger he finds himself in now, so taken by this man, his lip still stinging from the bite of Will's teeth. 

Will's hands grip hard enough to bruise but Hannibal doesn't falter. Desire crashes down, but when Will's voice breaks on that soft, desperate plea, something cracks within Hannibal's chest. He cannot be so callous as to not care, and while he doubts that Will is intentionally trying to sway him with his hormones, with the mixed scents of desire and need and distress, Hannibal can feel the temptation down to his core. 

Hannibal breathes deeply as he presses in slow, and when he finally bottoms out and feels Will's hole gripping him so tightly, the growl that rumbles in Hannibal's throat moves to Will's throat when Hannibal bends to press his lips to it. 

"Please _what?"_ Hannibal asks, though his voice is low with command. Perhaps he doesn't trust Will's words right now, but he cannot force Will silent now. Even wrapped in need, there will be some truth to Will's words, though Hannibal won't be able to discern how much until after he's been sated enough to think straight. 

It is with that in mind, as well as the rush of his own desire, the overwhelming feeling of being so deeply within Will's body, that Hannibal finally bares his teeth and draws back, looking down at Will and watching to _ensure_ his eyes remain open. There's a small snarl on Hannibal's lips, desirous and just shy of feral, and his nails dig into the sheets under him as he meets Will's eyes. And, aching with desire of his own, Hannibal slowly draws back, feeling the wet, tight heat stroking along the length of his cock before he thrusts back in, slow at first, then a little quicker. Desire will soon take them both.

* * *

They're a wet mess of sweat, slick, come and saliva. There is no finesse here, no calm or moderation. Will isn't about to forget how Hannibal had his face buried in his ass and feasted on his slick, on Hannibal's tongue thrusting and taking. Their bodies, pressed so close become more helplessly conjoined as Hannibal advances and steadily works inch by inch of hard flesh inside. And Will's body takes it, accommodating and stretching and ever greedy to try and force out Hannibal's knot.

Will's own tongue wants to get away with him. Will's own heart wants to betray him. He's vulnerable like this, like a needy bitch in Heat. Will doesn't want to speak or to beg or to rip his chest open and let Hannibal take a gander. He arches off the mattress, he writhes underneath Hannibal, a mate who isn't yet a mate and Will doesn't close his eyes. When Hannibal fills him, it's terrifying in its perfection and the growl that Hannibal gives is felt along his neck as Hannibal leans down to kiss at his throat.

' _Please_ _**what**?'_

Of course Hannibal wants to know what Will had been struggling with _not_ saying. And there is a real bitterness because there's far too much to say and now is a rather poor time to attempt any of it. Will's mouth is open, he's panting, struggling with formulating any response he can give. It gets more challenging to think and speak when Hannibal draws back. Hannibal's teeth are bared and Hannibal is watching him as he withdraws only to push back in.

"Be... Be mine," Will stammers, not once looking away. "Don't leave me ever again and I'll... I'll be yours."

* * *

Will's reluctance to speak shows honesty even in the grips of his Heat, though Hannibal cannot place all his hopes on Will's uncertainty. Even so he wants to know what Will had been going to say. When Hannibal slowly draws away from Will's throat to look down at him, close enough to breathe him in, to gaze upon his need and fitful desire like there's nothing else that exists, his expression is firm. 

There's command in his eyes, breathless as he feels at such a perfect sensation gripping all around his cock, Will's muscles clenching around the slightly-looser skin where his knot is already aching to form. Bitterness still wars within, but has Will not already offered his pound of flesh at Hannibal's feet? 

Yes, this might yet be a trap but Hannibal doesn't care the way he should. Not with Will like this.

So hearing Will's plea, hearing the breathlessness of need and the sudden aching, twisting desire for more than just Hannibal's knot strikes Hannibal _hard_. Will's voice is hitched and stilted, struggling through his Heat, and Hannibal aches with the reckless force to believe him regardless of history and circumstance. His hips still for but a moment, buried deep in Will's heat, and then Hannibal looks down at Will's bare, pale throat. A canvas for a bite. Perhaps what is most unsettling is how readily Hannibal would willingly give in despite Will's deception. 

He wishes, for once, that he could ascertain the truth without question.

Hannibal's jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth. He looks down at Will with a complicated expression, half-passion, half a mix of everything else ripping through him. Hannibal moves one hand to Will's hair, threading his fingers through it, gripping tight but not tight enough to cause undue distress. Then he bends and presses a kiss - deceptively soft - to Will's lips.

"Tell me again once the fire of Heat has abated. Tell me like you did just now, only with a clear mind," Hannibal says lowly, with a curling ache of what always lies beneath bitterness such as theirs. "And I will be yours. But until then... allow me to give you what you need."

Hannibal rolls his hips again, deep, a slow, filling grind that has pleasure curling through his senses. Then, hand still buried in Will's hair, Hannibal snaps his hips forward, taking like Will's instincts undoubtedly require, though each thrust is slow, even if it is hard.

* * *

Oh, it's terrifying to utter the words, to show his hand and lay down his cards for Hannibal's perusal. Maybe it's Will who is plucking at the Y-incision stitches to let Hannibal look at his own broken heart. Hannibal has already scarred him, taken a knife and plunged it into his belly and _ripped_. 

Ripped Abigail away from the both of them, removed the blinders from Alana, shone the light in the right direction for Jack. And the damn teacup isn't coming back together, but maybe that's just fine. Maybe being whole is overrated and not for them. Broken hearts - broken pieces - of them... As long as they're next to each other, does it matter? They'll be shards together, sharp and dangerous. They'll gather the fragments of their former lives and piece together some future, a cobbled path for their feet to take. 

Once the words are out, there can be no unsaying them, no take backs. Hannibal would hardly allow it. Still, Will knows that it's very likely that Hannibal could attribute his _sentiment_ to the Heat and that's what pisses Will off the most. Hannibal stills for only a moment and Will sees the struggle between trust and wariness, he sees Hannibal clench his jaw and Will can do nothing, can say nothing that will magically make Hannibal trust him, that will undo the knots of their past.

So Will does nothing, he lets Hannibal's hand grip his hair and he parts his lips when Hannibal's mouth brushes a soft kiss over them. He is at Hannibal's mercy here, in more ways than one, but this is what Will has chosen for himself. He doesn't fight it. He's tired of fighting Hannibal. He'll let the quicksand of Hannibal's draw pull him down. 

He can only give a somewhat-stilted nod when Hannibal responds. Hannibal's words are tinged with a hope that Will is parched for and then the promise comes - that Hannibal will be _his_ \- and Will's eyelids flutter. It's an honest struggle to not close them, to not want to bask in such an idea. 

_'But until then... allow me to give you what you need.'_

The next thrust has Will gasping, his nails biting into Hannibal's arms. His senses are completely enthralled, his heart beating so quick, his cock aching, his body hungry and wanton. And Hannibal's pace is brutal in that it's slow, but hard and felt deep. Will doesn't close his eyes. He breathes and honestly enjoys Hannibal over him. Hannibal's scent and sweat and bodily heat only add to his own. 

"Please, god, please," Will rasps out. "Need you... Need it. So much." Begging is easier when in Heat, but Will knows it's not _only_ the Heat. He'll prove it in time.

* * *

There is a risk that exists in this tumultuous moment, a risk that Will _won't_ say those words once the cloud of pleasure and desire has cleared. But that risk will always exist until the moment that Hannibal has his answer. So for now, though he wishes nothing more than to push, to wipe the Heat from Will's mind and demand his answer _now_ , he doesn't. 

Hannibal gazes down at Will, feeling the visceral clench of his body around Hannibal's cock, but despite the pleasure, despite the connection, Hannibal's favor goes so far beyond _just_ the physical. 

Will heeds his warning perfectly. He must be wracked with a deep, aching pleasure, the pleasure of partial-satisfaction, of finally having the prospect of something to ease the fire in his veins. Yet despite that, he does not close his eyes. Hannibal watches closely, but aside from the blinking that is required and aside from a telltale flutter that speaks of Will's desire to close his eyes and bask, he doesn't. He does what he'd been told, looking up openly into Hannibal's eyes as Hannibal rests above him, power in his posture, in his eyes, in each delicious, sharp thrust. 

Hannibal's pace remains slow but hard, solid, sharp thrusts that jostle them both and sting his hips from each slap of them against Will's skin. Through it all, through the sopping slick and the heady scent all through the air, Hannibal looks down at Will, monitors him for discomfort beyond that of his Heat. 

Despite the past between them, Hannibal does not wish to hurt this man more than he already has. So his fingers grip in Will's hair, sweaty strands curling around his fingers, and Hannibal lowers himself enough to press open-mouthed kisses along Will's jawline, under his ear, just against his throat. 

And only when Hannibal feels the tension around him begin to relax, only when his instincts finally snarl at him that Will is ready does Hannibal act. Will's pleas are like the fine ring of crystal in his ears, sweet and plaintive and desperate, and Hannibal nods tightly with a low, rumbling growl as some of his control begins to abate. He braces himself properly, feeling the bite of sharp nails into his arms, and the sensation only drives him to action sooner.

"Easy, Will. I will not leave you to this," Hannibal rumbles, his lips pressing to Will's throat, then lower, over where he intends to place his bite if Will asks him once sated. 

But in that moment, Hannibal does not bite. He scrapes his teeth, he hints, and then he snaps his hips forward _hard_. His fingers in Will's hair become an anchor as Hannibal holds him there, keeping him from sliding up the bed. Pleasure and instinct both burn like fire through his veins and Hannibal finally allows himself to _take_ , to give Will precisely what he needs in sharp, quick thrusts that make the base of Hannibal's cock ache. He shudders, hissing out a long breath as desire builds, but not once does Hannibal break eye contact as he gazes at Will, each thrust of his cock and the first gentle swell of his knot attempting to drive the very Heat from Will's bones.

* * *

This intimate moment may be tainted in Will's Heat, in the gripping desperation and the pounding demand of hormones that has pulled them both down, but Will isn't too concerned. This is hardly the best or most practical way of starting anything, but Will can't change it now. He can't reverse time, no fucking teacups. He has put them on this plank and they're going to walk it to the end.

He'll prove himself. No matter how long it takes, no matter how many times he'll have to repeat sentimental words, he'll prove it to Hannibal. Will does want him. Will does want this. And it's frightening and thrilling to finally be acknowledging the curl of Hannibal's temptation. It's like smoke, isn't it? Will wants to run his fingers through it, inhale Hannibal, have Hannibal cling to him like the scent of lingering smoke. 

God, he wants Hannibal to bite him. For the skin to scar, for a bond to be made and Will plans on biting Hannibal too. He doesn't care how unorthodox it is. _Be mine_ and _I'll be yours_ echoes in his skull.

Is it his pleas or the desperation etched on his face that has Hannibal beginning to really give it to him? Will doesn't exactly know and he doesn't care. Their eyes stay connected and there are so many words that want to escape from his chest and through his mouth, but the god-awful whining wins out (and maybe that's a good thing). 

And his instincts get rather tangled as he feels teeth graze across his neck - a fucking hint, a tease of a bite - but nothing comes of it other than Hannibal fucking into him harder and Will's eyelids fluttering (but he doesn't close them, he can't close them, he remembers). The heat is scorching, consuming like wildfire in a drought but it also feels as if he's in a sweat lodge and only Hannibal can help him sweat out his impurities. The thoughts seem conflicting and Will struggles to hold onto himself, to not become some base animal here. Will's nails dig into Hannibal's arms and when his body - so in tune and hungry - feels the slight swelling at the base of Hannibal's cock, Will feels the embarrassing gush of slick that comes with the prospect of being knotted as he clenches encouragingly.

"Fuck, please, give-give it to me," Will moans, arching off the mattress and humping up as best as he can.

* * *

Much as Hannibal wishes to focus on the words that Will had said, on the request he had made, even his mind is starting to slide away from him, replaced by the thick, honeyed scent of Will's slick and Heat, and the deep, roiling ache of arousal and need burning within his own body. When-- _If_ Will is his, Hannibal will gladly occupy the rest of Will's Heat with him, will undress completely and give him the gift of skin-on-skin, of greater intensity. 

But for now, despite the pulsing pleasure of having his cock enveloped in that slick, wet heat, there _is_ a goal in mind. Hannibal intends to give Will what he needs, intends to clear the fog from his mind, intends to bury himself as deeply into Will's body as his knife had carved so many months ago. 

Not even Hannibal can forever battle his instincts, though. For the first slight tug at what will quickly become his knot if he lets it is enough for Will's body to release more slick in answer, and the scent of it briefly makes Hannibal dizzy. His jaws ache with the desire to sink his teeth into Will's throat but he stubbornly holds it back, listening to the wet-slick sounds of his hips meeting Will's skin on every sharp thrust. Hannibal can feel slick between them, knows it's undoubtedly staining the front of his slacks, and he doesn't care. He breathes in the scent deeply, feeling his cock ache, feeling each clench around him like Will is attempting to force him to remain buried deep.

But it isn't until Will begs, his eyes bright and almost fevered, his body jerking and twitching with desperation that Hannibal decides that his desire to see Will fall apart vastly outshines his desire to draw this out any longer. He grits his teeth in a small snarl as he drives himself in, thrusting sharper yet as his knot begins to swell. Each time it presses in, Will's body rushes to accommodate, and Hannibal basks in the thick scent of slick.

"You'll have it," Hannibal promises, his voice low but slightly breathless. Shuddering and feeling each tug at his knot like the first threads of orgasm, Hannibal finally buries himself deep inside of Will's body and when he twitches his hips back, it's to the feeling of Will's body locking him in. Hannibal's hands claw at the sheets and he growls, feeling the pressure and the tightness and the heat like electricity that sparks suddenly through him. 

He jerks his hips, pulling back only as much as Will's body allows, and as Hannibal draws back to meet Will's eyes directly, he cups his face with one hand and then shudders viscerally, his voice breaking on a rough groan of Will's name as pleasure scores over him like blades under his skin. Hannibal grinds deep, his knot swelling and pressing against Will's prostate as he comes, shooting thick and hot into Will's body, his knot ensuring that nothing can escape.

* * *

Will's intent had been to get Hannibal to bite him and for them to bond. That had been his objective in going off his suppressants and later seeking Hannibal out. Will's Heat had merely been a means to an end, it actually being sated had been a secondary concern. Desperate men behave desperately. He'd been stupidly desperate, remarkably desperate, but it's paid off, hasn't it? (And maybe it's a bad lesson for him to learn...)

Will had used whatever he could to lure and then reel Hannibal in, biological manipulation at its finest. But now, caught in the vice-like grips of his Heat, it hardly seems important that he's managed to get Hannibal _here._

Need and want feel so tightly wrapped up within each other that Will can't differentiate between them. Will doesn't care that he begs for Hannibal's knot. This is the first Heat in over two decades and given what he's set up for them, he's sure he doesn't get to try and scrape by with any self-respect. So he frantically begs and he doesn't dare close his eyes or look away. Even nearly delirious with his Heat, and after Hannibal's promise, Will can still feel Hannibal's knot begin to swell. It's a tease of relief that he aches for.

His hands grip Hannibal's arms, nails digging into skin and there is a distinct uncomfortable sensation when the knot swells more and Hannibal's dick is locked within him. It's first a spike of pain at the adjustment, but then it's _fullness_ and _rightness_ and it's them conjoined. He hears Hannibal's groan, he hears his name, and after one deep grind, Will's pleasure finally falls over the edge. He may weakly ejaculate, but the gush of slick he releases almost makes him feel dizzy as he cries out.

It's intense, his body shuddering in pleasure and Will feels wetness at his eyes that he knows he would have cared about _before_ (he's never liked the vulnerability of sex).

He doesn't care now. More than the bliss of orgasm and the beginnings of a respite from the blinding Heat, is the closeness, is the fact that Hannibal is with him and giving him this. The incessant buzzing is beginning to lessen, the ache dulling and Will blinks past tears to meet Hannibal's eyes. One hand releases a bicep to brush shaking fingers through Hannibal's damp hair.

* * *

Pleasure becomes Hannibal's world for the next few aching seconds, but it is not entirely his own that he focuses on. His knot aches as Will's muscles clamp down near the base of his cock, and Hannibal's muscles tremble with the sheer force of the pleasure that cuts through him. It's a blinding bliss, a soothing balm over his instincts, and through it all Hannibal cannot take his eyes off of Will. 

He locks away the nearly-desperate look in Will's eyes, the desire, the _need_ , and Hannibal ensures that Will is given precisely what he's asked for. Hannibal watches, his eyes bright, as Will's body begins to shake. He feels the rush of slick around his knot, feels the way Will's muscles suddenly begin to twitch, and Hannibal's senses are awash in Will's staggering relief.

The knife's edge of his own pleasure tears through him and slowly slides away, but it leaves the longer, pulsing pleasure behind as Hannibal stays buried within Will's body. Through it all, he watches Will, hungry for every second as he falls so beautifully apart. Through it all, Will doesn't close his eyes, doesn't stop doing as he'd been told. Hannibal feels the sting of Will's nails still buried in his arms and he basks in the added sensation, rolling his hips slowly as he spikes Will's pleasure that much higher, giving him everything that he'd needed so badly. And when the tears do come, when Hannibal watches them well and spill over Will's cheeks from the intensity, Hannibal merely leans over Will and braces himself, then bends his head down and presses his lips to the swell of Will's cheek.

Fingers stroke through his hair, and for that one moment, Hannibal feels the aching claw of a different kind of need deep within himself. It goes beyond the pleasure still slowly pulsing through him, goes beyond the way that Will is clinging to him, or the scent of come and slick. He tastes the salt of Will's tears and feels a deep need, a tentative, shattered hope beginning to regather. Hannibal lowers himself enough to feel Will's chest rising and falling against his own. He feels the twitching and clenching around him, feels how desperately Will clings, and he waits, basking in the blissful, aching silence as he counts down the seconds.

When Hannibal breathes in again, it is to the scent of Will's Heat beginning to ease. The sweet, thrilling scent is still lingering, still an itch under his own skin, but he can smell that the fog of it has passed. Will's pheromones no longer scream that there is an unsatisfied Omega, but rather one that has been properly sated. Hannibal swallows, then finally leans back enough to meet Will's eyes once more.

He doubts that he has ever found Will more beautiful than he is now, save perhaps while covered in Hobbs' blood, or boldly standing at his side after having delivered Randall Tier to his table. Hannibal lifts one hand, curling it slowly through Will's damp hair.

"Tell me," Hannibal says, and his voice is almost too quiet. "With your mind clear, tell me again, if it is still what you wish." 

Tell him, and he'll do it. Whether it brings damnation or scorn or death, Hannibal had given his word. He doesn't intend to go back on it. Not with Will's pale, unmarked throat so close. Not with the sting of eight long months. 

* * *

It's the most intense orgasm Will has ever experienced. Will still finds it strange that the simplicity of being knotted could - and does - sate a Heat so thoroughly. He's never cared to study or seek answers regarding this side of himself. Suppressants had been a godsend - a necessity for nearly all Omegas who wished to live a normal unimpeded life. He'd taken them religiously. Having experienced the crush of hormones, Will doesn't care for the out-of-control feeling one bit (and it also reminds him of the Encephalitis). He can't imagine going through another Heat.

Even amidst the clearing haze of his own orgasm and the surging relief, Will sees and feels Hannibal's pleasure. He's not alone in this perfect moment and that fact resonates with Will. It fills him up in a different way. Closeness, intimacy, connection... Daunting prospects, once strange concepts to apply to himself, but not so much now. 

Hannibal kisses his tears and Will doesn't fight against it. He doesn't try to hide them. It's too late. There doesn't need to be any attempts at control and composure anyhow. There's safety and security in having Hannibal closer and atop him. While his body still wants to believe that getting mounted and fucked from behind seems more instinctual, Will doesn't care. He holds onto Hannibal, Hannibal's body folds over him, cocooning him in safety.

As the seconds pass, Will feels infinitely better. He's not fixed, he's not back to his normal self (although, really, is there even a normal for him?). His Heat may not be over, but for now the ridiculous need has been satisfied, the beast fed. Hannibal lifts his head, gazing down at him, and Will isn't sure what kind of expression is on his face. Dazed? Happy? Relieved? Following Hannibal's absence, when he hadn't been miserable, he'd felt hollow. He'd felt like a shade of himself. 

With Hannibal, now, there's color bleeding into him.

Fingers moving through his hair have Will refocusing and sighing as his pulse and breathing calm. And then Hannibal speaks and Will _knows_ what Hannibal is asking.

"Be mine," Will begins, his voice as clear as it can be given the rawness of his throat. "And I'll be yours."

* * *

While Hannibal cannot applaud Will his methods, they are nevertheless effective. Like this, locked together in pleasure and ruin, as Hannibal looks into Will's eyes, glossy-blue with unshed tears of intensity, he does not fault Will his methods. Desperate times do call for desperate measures and Hannibal can think of very little that constitutes desperation more than their forced parting. 

Blades and death and blood and abandonment... Will's actions make sense. He cannot approve, but he can admire the lengths that Will had been willing to go to in order to once again lure him in. Yet this time, instead of a gleaming metal snare ready to dig barbs deeply into his skin and keep him trapped, Will's lure is not aimed to close the trap. Instead, in this moment, he leaves the door open. 

Hannibal cannot escape now and yet Will's voice doesn't lift in a note of triumph. There are no raids. No guns. Jack doesn't barge into the room with a team in order to secure Hannibal in chains. Instead Will's muscles clench and twitch and pull more pleasure from them both. His hands grip, and there is intensity locked deep within Will's eyes as the seconds stretch out. Hannibal is silent for a moment after he replies, and the words hang between them like hooks, dangerous and final.

Will's answer cuts them down. His voice is raw but clear, his eyes bright, and Hannibal feels the crush of something nameless and intense strike him so hard that it makes breathing feel briefly impossible. He stares for a long moment, his lips parted in quiet awe, and then the world crashes back into place. 

_Mine_ and _yours_. Novel concepts, and certainly not ones that Hannibal had ever expected to hear from Will after their parting. He looks down to the sensitive scarring on Will's abdomen, spattered with his own come, and then back at Will. He hardly dares to believe, but the answer had been absolute.

Hannibal's breath escapes him on a soft hiss between his teeth, and it sounds as pained as it does reverent. He gently pulls on Will's hair, easing his head to the side in order to bare Will's throat. Hannibal looks at him, feeling instinct spike, but it goes beyond that, beyond the biological. 

He's silent for but a moment, then he nods, whispers a soft, " _yes_ ," and then lowers his head.

Hannibal noses gently at Will's throat, breathing in the sated scent. He traces it back to the source upon Will's throat and drinks in the scent that is only _Will Graham_. Hannibal basks, then he parts his lips. 

His teeth are not gentle as they break skin. Hannibal tastes the blood almost immediately and a snarl slides over him as he bites deeper. In the rush of mating, endorphin helps ease the sting, but like this, Hannibal clutches Will tightly and finally bites him, finally _claims_ him. 

And when the dust settles, Hannibal allows Will the gift of reciprocity, spitting on perceived societal expectations. Will's claim is as bloody as his own, and when their lips press together for the first time as equals, Hannibal can taste his own blood on Will's lips.

 _Be mine, and I'll be yours_.


End file.
